Chapter 24
I wake up sore and grouchy and wishing I could get the images of Noelle’s dead body out of my head. That’s why, when I drag myself out of bed, I determine to do something I haven’t done in years. Because I need to feel real and capable and maybe this will help. Mom’s downstairs messing around in the kitchen, so I sneak to her bathroom and scoop up an armful of her makeup. Then I run to my room and lock the door.
Staring at the foundation, blush, mascara, and more doesn’t have the effect I want. All I can remember is the last time I put this stuff on, and how awful Graham made me feel about it.
I was twelve, and when everyone went out on Friday nights they’d keep me locked in the penthouse where I was “safe.” So I did what any girl would have done—I turned on musicals, ate whatever I wanted, dressed up in my mother’s fancy clothes, and slathered my face in makeup.
It never lasted long, fading as my skin absorbed the color. And it looked weird because I still didn’t have hair or eyes. But for a girl who doesn’t know what she looks like, it was just enough to keep me going.
One night, Graham and Miles came home early from some party and found me dressed up. Graham burst out laughing. “You think you look like a person in that stuff? Don’t kid yourself—you look like an invisible girl trying to be something she isn’t.”
Tears ran down my face as I rushed to my room, filled with shame. When I looked in my mirror, I saw Graham was right. My tears had streaked the fading makeup, turning me into a pretty disturbing ghost-like creature. It was then that I realized makeup wouldn’t show me my face, not really. So I never put it on again.
My hand shakes as I reach for the foundation. Screw Graham—I want to see myself today, and this is the best I have. Opening the cap, I pour the creamy color into my palm, where it seems to float in the air. I dip my fingers into it and begin spreading it over my face. It makes my heart race, seeing my features come into view bit by bit. A soft jawline, cheekbones, my button nose. I even put it on my lips so I can see how full they are.
I stand there, staring at this person I don’t know in the mirror. This face doesn’t look like the one I had at twelve. It has more angles and less round cheek. I try to see what Seth sees when he looks at me—imagining my golden hair and hazel eyes to go with this muddy mask in front of me.
Don’t see it.
Grabbing the lipstick, I use it generously in hopes that maybe it’ll make this flat image more realistic. It does a decent job, so I add blush and eye shadow and pretend this is enough.
But it’s not.
I head to my closet in hopes of covering all the still-invisible parts of me. I put on a long sleeve shirt, gloves, tight pants, and sunglasses to hide my hollow eyes. As I stuff the beanie on my head, I look in my long mirror.
The makeup is already fading, but I try to take myself in. Maybe I do look like Mom. Maybe Seth isn’t over exaggerating when he says I’m beautiful. Or maybe this is all stupid. It does feel fake, even without Graham here laughing at me. I pull the hat off and throw it on the ground. Then the gloves and shirt and—
Someone knocks on my door.
“Fiona?” Seth’s voice is muffled through the wood.
My face burns. He better not be looking through. “One sec! I’m not dressed!”
“Sorry for just showing up—you didn’t answer your phone. I was worried something happened,” he says as I run for my bathroom to scrub my skin. I don’t even want to know what he’d say to seeing me with makeup on.
“It’s okay!” I call, though I do find it slightly annoying. After I throw on a dress, I open the door with a smile. “Good morning.”
He gives me a suspicious look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He comes in, and I shut the door behind him.
“That smile was the fakest thing I’ve ever seen your face do.”
He might be right, but I still find this statement offensive. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
This was clearly not the right thing to say, because Seth now looks like a wounded puppy. “Don’t you want to tell me everything? I like that I can tell you anything.”
I look away, unsure about whether I should feel bad or not. “Every time I tell you about wanting to see myself, you don’t understand. So why bother?”
Seth purses his lips, but says nothing.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I try to keep it together. This fighting thing is getting out of control, but I can’t seem to reel it back in. “That’s not important right now anyway…”
“It isn’t?” His voice cracks, and I know I’ve done something really wrong.
I can’t deal with this on top of everything else. “My dad is trying to have Miles murdered, and it would’ve happened last night if Spud didn’t show up.”
He tries not to be interested, but he is. “So that girl downstairs…Miles said her name was Lee Seol, but that’s Spud?”
I nod.
“Whoa.”
“Don’t tell anyone. Not even Brady. Miles will probably be pissed I even told you.”
“Of course I won’t.” He scratches his head, the information seeming to quell whatever issues we have. “So does this mean she’s, like, going to help us now?”
“I have no idea.” I grab my checkerboard bag from its peg and sling it over my shoulder. “I wanted to ask her at first, but she’s already working so hard to keep Miles safe. How can I demand more than that?”
He nods. “Good point.”
“So are we looking into your dad today?” I ask, since we’re finally on to business. Business is so much easier. “If so, I figure we should check his office.”
Seth gives me the smallest smirk. “You read my mind.”
The Mitchell Construction office is in an old strip mall that also houses a laundromat, tax place, and the one dentist in Madison. Pretty much the worst combo of businesses ever. But though I know where it is, I’ve never actually been inside. For some reason I was picturing something a lot nicer than the one room filled to the brim with files and blueprints.
“Wow,” I say as I take in the mess.
“I know.” Seth goes to a desk buried in paper. “And this is actually pretty clean. My dad is supposed to keep up with the finances, but Alejandro usually gets slammed with it all. He should probably own the place.”
“Are they out on a job?” I can’t help but notice that Alejandro’s desk is the one organized spot in the whole room.
“Yeah. They only come here for scheduled consultations, paperwork, or designing.” Seth is already digging through the files, organizing like this isn’t his first time.
“So what are we looking for?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve come here plenty of times, and I know the numbers better than my dad. So I guess I don’t really know. Something that seems off?”
“Okay…” I help him go through the papers, which all seem to be money related: supply orders, estimates for customers, final payments needed, etc. A few hours go by in this mind-numbing boredom. I get us some vending machine candy from the laundromat. We start scouring the computer files.
A little past two, Seth finally leans back, clearly frustrated. “There’s nothing! I’ve seen these accounts a million times and they’re the same as ever.”
“Hmm.” I start reading the spines of binders on the shelves, all of which are labeled with years going back to before I was born. All the way back to the 1940s, in fact. This sparks my curiosity. I pull out the oldest one, labeled 1945. “Your family has been building houses around here since before Radiasure?”