From Where I Watch You Read Free Page A

there.
    I’m used to odd looks from people; I’ve been putting up with it for almost two years. Because I’m her, the daughter of that crazy lady who used to be an ass-kicking lawyer and now sells sandwiches and Jesus soup on the Ave. I’m her, the sister of that dead girl, Kellen McKinley, who spent her time mouthing off to teachers, cutting class, and basically blazing a trail of shit and splattering it all over the faculty—making them hate any future McKinleys who might walk through the door.
    Jen disappears into the pizza shop and I turn back toward the window. More people pass behind me, their reflections in the storefront window distracting enough to make me notice.
    A boy wearing a Mariners ball cap stops to look at the Christmas tree. He meets my eyes in the reflection, holding them for a moment before he walks away. I think I’ve seen him at school with Noelle before.
    I shiver and walk toward home. I’m freezing and I don’t like the way that boy looked at me.
    And I have another note to read.

June: Thirteen-Year-Old Carrot’s
Summer Fun Before High School
    Kellen sits on the bathroom counter, watching me.
    Mom has finally started letting me use makeup. I begged her to let me buy some with my allowance so I could become a pro at putting it on over the summer. A week ago Mom took me to Bartell’s to pick out my own stuff. I’ve given up on waiting for her to show me how to put it on.
    “You’re such a baby, Carrot. I was wearing makeup to school when I was eleven. You should’ve snuck it to school like I did. Mom never knew.”
    Focused on not poking my eye out, I don’t say anything. She’s right. I’m thirteen. I’m wearing makeup and growing boobs and Kellen still calls me that dumb baby name.
    On the day I was born, my sister learned two new things—one she hated right away and the other she learned to hate later. At the hospital, Grandma made her eat cooked carrots for the first time. A few hours after that, Kellen was introduced to me. She confused “carrots” and “Kara,” which Mom and Dad thought was so adorable that they never corrected her.
    “Hey, dumbass, you’re supposed to put the eye shadow on first, then the mascara. And you stretch out your face. Like this.” Kellen opens her eyes and mouth wide. “So you don’t get mascara all over.”
    I pretend to ignore her, but really I don’t because she’s showing me and I want to learn. But I’m sunburned and it hurts the top of my cheeks to stretch out my face.
    Kellen pulls her legs up on the counter and sits cross-legged. She smells like aloe vera lotion. “Why do you wanna wear makeup anyway? Are you hot for someone? Hmm, Carrot?” She smiles wide and her eyes almost pop out as she reaches in front of me, almost making me stab my eye out with the mascara wand.
    “Stop it,” I whisper.
    “Speaking of hot for someone . . .” She grabs her makeup bag. “Almost forgot it!” She makes a big show of taking out her birth control pills.
    I only know what they are because she’s told me at least a hundred times. She punches one through the foil, pops it in her mouth, and chases it with a swig from her Bud Light. She sets down the beer and smiles as she opens the pill case again. Then she snaps it shut, opening it, shutting it—in my face, practically clipping my sunburnt nose.
    “You know, Carrot, you’re going to need a lot of makeup if you ever want the chance to use these.”
    I blink hard and get mascara under my lower lid.

3. Remove from heat before it melts.
    ..........................................................
Kara,
always watching you. always waiting.
    My name, printed in careful handwriting, always has the same monstrous K that looks as if it’s trying to eat the rest of my name. And like the other notes, the paper is folded twice and tucked into a matching envelope.
    Tired hardwood planks groan under my feet when I cross the room. The old floor makes different sounds depending on where you tread,