Protagonist Bound Read Free Page A

vines climbing our balcony outside. The gold edging also matched the frames of the three identical canopy beds spread out across the room. Each one was decorated in various shades of maroon and purple and had corresponding desks and nightstands constructed of richly dark mahogany on each side.
    SJ opened the doors that led to the balcony, which we always kept open during the school year. Meanwhile, my first priority was to kick off the demon heels that had been crushing my poor feet. Thankfully, the blood flow started to return to my toes.
    I sauntered over to my bed and set my precious satchel down next to the rest of my luggage, which, somehow, had managed to beat me here.
    I opened the largest of the suitcases and dug around inside in search of one of my many pairs of beloved combat boots. But, just as I was elbow-deep in miscellaneous clothing, I stopped short. My hands suddenly felt like they were burning, as if I had stuck them in a lit fireplace. They appeared fine, but my palms were inexplicably pulsing with pain and felt like they were getting hotter.
    “Oh no,” SJ gasped from outside.
    I tore my attention away from my painful problem at hand (no pun intended) and hastily made my way onto the balcony. SJ was standing at the railing with her shoulders stooped and her head down. When I got closer, I saw why she was upset. The lush green vines that normally decorated our balcony had all died. They were now brown, dry, and in desperate need of some serious mercy from Mother Nature.
    “I hope they grow back.” SJ sighed as she held one of the withered blossoms.
    “Don’t worry,” I said as I rubbed my hands against my dress, trying to keep calm and keep the escalating burning sensation under control. “All they need is a little water and a little motivation.”
    “You think?”
    “Definitely,” I assured her. “Watch, I’ll even get ’em started.”
    I cleared my throat, ignoring the fire-like pain emanating from my fingertips, and forced a smile as I held one of the dangling blossoms.
    “Come on, flower! Live, darn you! Live!” I shouted overdramatically.
    My theatricality having successfully pulled SJ out of her funk, she turned her attention back to the reason she’d come outside in the first place. She sang a happy melody and in seconds several blue birds flew over to us and joyfully finished the tune with her. SJ hadn’t seen these birds since we’d left for summer vacation, and they seemed extremely delighted to harmonize with one another again. I, however, did not join in so as to spare the birds the agony of witnessing my inability to sing in key. While SJ’s voice could’ve hypnotized a siren, mine could’ve easily driven a canary to commit suicide.
    SJ stood for Snow Jr. by the way. As in, Snow White Jr.
    Unlike in my family, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree in SJ’s family. Or maybe in this case it was the poisoned apple that didn’t fall too far from the tree.
    Ha-ha, fairytale humor.
    Seriously though, SJ was the spitting image of her mother. For starters there was her appearance: skin as white as snow, hair as black as night, blah, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera. The only notable physical differences between the two were their eyes; SJ had massive dark gray eyes while her mother had dark brown ones. SJ also preferred to keep her long black hair in a tight French braid, as compared to her mother’s chic, shoulder-length bob.
    In temperament my dear friend was also very similar to her mother. She was graceful, poised, polite, and had great vocal chords and a natural bond with animals. SJ Kaplan, in short, was everything I was not—a proper princess.
    Once in a while I would get a little jealous. Having a best friend who embodied princess perfection was a constant reminder that I was nothing like I was supposed to be. It usually didn’t bother me all that much that I was nothing like SJ, or my mom, or any of the other princesses at this school. I was just me. No matter