Girl Upside Down

  Also by Nicole Williams

  Trusting You & Other Lies

  Almost Impossible

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Nicole Williams

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Crown and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! GetUnderlined.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 9780553498851 (trade pbk.) — ebook ISBN 9780553498875

  Cover design by Casey Moses

  Cover photo of girl © BONNIN-STKOID/Stocksy United

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

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  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Nicole Williams

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To the bookworms. My people. My tribe.

  You make this book world a happy, beautiful place.

  To my dearest, Quinn,

  Some words of wisdom—I see that eye roll, but just trust me!—to get you through these next few years. Miss you already.

  Love,

  Mom

  Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Fifteen years in, and I already knew that.

  In my experience, life was the opposite—instead of chasing a happy ending, it was more about keeping the unhappy one from nipping at your heels.

  I wondered if other kids who’d lost a parent felt the same way.

  As the bus pulled into the depot, my fingers curled around the worn suede journal I’d been clutching since boarding in Leavenworth, Washington, aka the only home I’d ever known and now had no clue when I’d ever see again.

  Renton might have been in the same state, but it wasn’t anything like the place where I’d spent my whole life. A suburb of Seattle, Renton appeared to be as packed with cars, people, and urban sprawl as the Emerald City.

  When the announcement screeched through the bus speakers that we’d arrived at the Seattle bus depot, I was the only person not in a hurry to get off. After breathing in a few hours of stale air and suspicious body odors, you’d think I’d be elbowing my way down the aisle with the rest of them, but what was waiting for me out there was more terrifying than anything inside this bus.

  A new life.

  One I hadn’t chosen but was instead forced into thanks to being a minor and low on alternatives. In a little over two years, I’d be of legal age and able to call the shots when it came to my life, but in the meantime, I was stuck with him.

  Him.

  I couldn’t bring myself to say the name I’d called him the first five years of my life. I wasn’t sure I ever would. Kind of hard to call someone Dad when he bailed forever ago and hadn’t made contact since.

  Why did Mom leave me in his custody instead of someone else’s? I asked myself for the millionth time as I tucked the journal into my shoulder bag and forced myself up from the seat. After the doctors told Mom the grim news of how much—or how little—time she had left, she filled the journal with wisdom and advice for me. I’d seen her working on it those last weeks we had together, but it wasn’t until after her death that one of her friends gave it to me. I’d been savoring every passage, every word, since and was dreading reaching the end.

  I was now officially the last one on the bus and making no move to hustle off either. While other passengers were lined up outside, waiting to claim their bags, I bit back every urge and instinct to tear over to the ticket counter and purchase a one-way back to Leavenworth.

  Home. Friends. Belonging.

  I could live on my own, find a job, and finish school there. It would be hard—I knew that—but it would be a picnic compared to whatever life waited for me here.

  I’d checked into it. Emancipation.

  The paperwork, the ins and outs; I knew about all of it. I also knew enough to decide I wasn’t quite ready for that big of a step. Not yet. I’d give this new living situation a trial period before making up my mind. If it sucked as bad as I’d been guessing it would, emancipation it would be. Plus my mom had wanted this: me to come live with Nick. If nothing else, I was going to honor her wishes and give it a chance.

  Climbing off the bus, I could already feel the moisture in the air. Only a hundred miles away and I’d gone from four distinct seasons to one: rain.

  I concentrated on finding my luggage instead of scanning the depot for him. He’d left a voice message for me a couple of days ago saying he’d pick me up when my bus arrived at four-thirty. He’d offered to drive me from Leavenworth to save me the headache of the bus, but being trapped in a confined space for two and a half hours with the man who walked out on me and Mom sounded a hundred times worse than any bus ride.

  Finally, I spotted my bags and slung the two duffels over my shoulders. I took a moment to put on the most unaffected face I could before turning around to where a handful of people were waiting for passengers. I hadn’t seen him in a decade, and I wondered if I’d even recognize him now.

  Of course, he looked almost exactly the same.

  I’d been in kindergarten the last time he saw me, though. My hair had gone from white to dark blond, I’d grown a solid foot and a half, and I’d ditched the dresses for jeans and T-shirts. Not to mention that the innocent twinkle in my eyes was long gone. A result of having one parent bail and the other lose her life to a bastard of a disease.

  I kept my gaze wandering and tucked my hoodie up over my head as I started toward him, not about to give him the wrong impression that I was thrilled with this arrangement.

  This wasn’t a happy reunion. It wasn’t a long overdue visit.

  This was his guilt and my helplessness colliding.

  This was my proverbial rock and a hard place.

  He teetered on the curb as I approached, each step harder to take than the one before.

  It wasn’t until I’d stopped on the curb semi-beside him, arms crossed and eyes still roaming, that he seemed to recognize me and unfroze from his statue-like state. Clearing his throat, he began to stretch his arms as his body squared toward me. Almost as if he was about to give me a…

  I backed away a few feet. Then one more just in case.
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  His arms hung in the air for a brief second before falling to his sides.

  Seriously, though. Did he just expect I’d be all for hugging it out? It wasn’t like he’d stayed late at work one night and missed my school recital or something. He’d left me. He’d left us.

  If he thought some awkward hug was the solution to a decade-long absence, I was going to need that emancipation quicker than I’d guessed.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.” The first words I’d heard from my “dad” in years settled into the space between us. His voice was a bit deeper than I remembered, grittier. “I’m so sorry.”

  It was probably the thousandth time I’d heard that sentiment since Mom had died. You’d have thought I’d be desensitized to those words by now, but not even close. Blinking my eyes to keep the sting in them from materializing, I cleared my throat. “Where did you park?”

  He stood there for another minute, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he wanted to say something else, but all that came was a long sigh. “This way.”

  He pointed in the general direction of the parking lot behind the terminal, and we started moving. As soon as I left the shelter, raindrops began to pepper me. It wasn’t a hard rain, but instead the unhurried kind that made it known it wasn’t planning on stopping anytime this month.

  I’d never been big on rain. Sure, Seattle rain might have been responsible for flowers blooming, but it was also responsible for spirits withering. I could already feel mine dwindling as my sneakers clomped around the shallow puddles scattered through the parking lot.

  “This is me.” His head lifted at the familiar old truck in front of us.

  My stomach seized seeing it again, an image playing through my head of its taillights fading from view as the miniature version of me stood crying on a sidewalk.

  “Let me get those.” When he started to reach for my bags after opening the creaky passenger door, I flinched away.

  “I’ve got it, Nick.”

  Calling him by his name surprised me, but from his expression, it didn’t surprise him. Backing away, he moved around the bed to the driver’s side, while I finished wrestling my bags into the back seat. The truck was already running by the time I crawled into the passenger seat, the engine gasping for air. The windows fogged up from the rain, and the heaters created a sauna-like feel inside the cab.

  “You’ve grown up. Changed so much since the last time I saw you,” Nick said as we left the bus parking lot.

  “That’s what happens when a decade goes by,” I replied, angling toward my window. I wasn’t in a talking mood.

  He must have picked up on what I was getting at, because he didn’t say anything else the rest of the drive. In the silence, I tried to acquaint myself with my new home. My new residence, I reminded myself, because this would never be home.

  Endless green, gray, and people—that’s what this place was made of. It was all so different from where I’d grown up. It was hard to imagine a place that could be more different. The sun had been shining when I’d left Leavenworth. Here it seemed like the sun hadn’t made an appearance in months.

  The sun.

  Just one of the many things I’d have to learn to go without here in purgatory.

  “Still follow baseball?” Nick asked suddenly, making an attempt to fill in the silence.

  I cringed at the question. Baseball was the one thing we ever had in common. “When I have the time,” I replied coldly.

  His face pinched together like he was trying to think of what to say next. Luckily, after a minute, he gave it up.

  Almost an hour had gone by, most of that time spent stuck in traffic, before we pulled onto a side street speckled with houses and apartments. It was an old part of town, some buildings maintained, some not so much.

  “Here we are,” Nick announced as he eased the truck up to the curb in front of a small apartment complex.

  I took in a breath before letting myself see the place I’d potentially be spending the next two years of my life. It wasn’t the worst I’d imagined…but it was a long way off from the best.

  I unbuckled and leapt from the truck. I already had my bags shouldered by the time Nick came around to meet me on the sidewalk.

  He must have noticed the way I was gaping at the small complex, because he motioned at the building. “I know it’s not much to look at, but the apartments are clean and rent doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.”

  My throat constricted as my gaze continued to wander the lava rock structure that appeared as though nothing had been updated since the seventies.

  “It’s…” I struggled to substitute a word that wouldn’t totally offend him. “Nice.”

  “It’s nicer on the inside, trust me,” he replied, leading the way up the sidewalk to the main entrance.

  I followed, feeling like I was walking the plank instead of entering my new “home.”

  “There are only six apartments, mainly filled with older folks, so it’s pretty quiet, which will be nice for you when it comes time to study.” He led the way up a stairway. “And the high school is only half a mile away, so you can either take the bus or walk to school, you know, at least until you get your license.”

  “That’s…nice,” I repeated, filing that response away for future reference. Didn’t express enthusiasm but wasn’t insulting either. Exactly the line I wanted to straddle where Nick was concerned.

  “Yeah. Nice.” He rubbed at the back of his head as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. It was so strange to see him with streaks of gray hair popping through the dark strands. He was still tall and thin, like he could have stood to gain ten pounds, his wiry beard the same as before, but he’d changed a little too. He appeared tired, almost fragile compared to the younger version of him I remembered.

  We stopped in front of an apartment on the second floor, a number five hanging crookedly on the door. It was in need of a fresh coat of paint, ten years ago. The smell lingering in the hallway was musty, like years of rain had been collecting inside the worn wood floors.

  “This is us.” For the first time, Nick’s voice sounded unsteady. “It isn’t much, but it’s home.” He moved aside, letting me pass through first.

  Which was a good thing, since I couldn’t hide the surprise that hit me the moment I stepped into the apartment.

  It was all one big room, from what I could tell; the kitchen, dining, living room all gelling into one.

  “This is it?” My voice wobbled. “Where are the bedrooms?”

  The clearing of his throat as he came inside answered my question. Mostly. “My bedroom’s right over there, by the bathroom.” He waved at one corner of the apartment, where a couple of dark doorways stood.

  “And my bedroom?”

  I saw it right before he angled toward it: the cluster of curtains that had been hung from the ceiling, partitioning off a small corner of the room.

  “This is only temporary. Until I can find us a bigger place.” Nick pulled one of the curtains aside, revealing my new “bedroom.” Inside, a small bed had been squeezed, along with a few plastic rolling carts that I assumed were meant to serve as my dresser and closet.

  There was a floor lamp, a small purple rug to match the comforter set, and a mismatch of purple curtains he’d hung to create an illusion of privacy. Purple had been my favorite color as a kid.

  It had been my least favorite color for a while now.

  He rubbed at the back of his head again, watching me take in the space. “Probably not what you’re used to—”

  “It’s nice.” I began taking the bags off my shoulders, setting them on the whole foot and a half of space I had to move around in my “room.” “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get unpacked and settled in.”

  I didn’t wait for him to leave before tearing open the zipper of my first duffel. Good thing I hadn’t brought a lot w
ith me—I’d be lucky to fit what I had into the plastic drawers. One of my friends’ parents had offered to keep the rest of Mom’s and my stuff in their garage, saying it would be there for me one day whenever I needed it.

  Another wave of homesickness bowled over me.

  “If you need anything, let me know.” He went to leave, letting the curtain close behind him. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

  I needed to cry. I needed to scream. But I had walls of cotton and nowhere to run to. Collapsing on the foam bed, I felt the tears come on their own. In the span of a handful of days, I’d lost my mom, my friends, my home—my whole life. And I couldn’t help thinking I no longer had anyone to cry to.

  One night down. Only eight hundred and something more to go.

  A grumble escaped from me when I thought about it in those terms.

  Find the good.

  Mom had a lot of words of wisdom when it came to winning at life—a result of all those self-improvement books, I suppose—but that was her favorite: Find the good, and you’ll deflect the bad.

  And for the most part, it worked. Even the time I’d gotten sick and had to miss the sixth-grade camping trip I’d been excited for all year. Mom turned the living room into the great outdoors, complete with sleeping bags, lanterns, and hanging stars. We finished off each night with s’mores roasted over the stove.

  The good then was easy to find: I got to spend a special weekend with my mom. But now? I thought, scanning my bedroom made of mismatched curtains and yellowed water stains dotting the ceiling, it seemed impossible to find.

  My alarm went off a minute later. It was my first day at my new high school, and as much as I didn’t want to go, Mom had pounded enough sense into me to know school was important. She said college was up to me, but it was her job to make sure I made it through high school.