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‘Great.’ I smile, and Mum gives me a warning look before her smile is back on and she’s ushering everyone toward the table.

Exhaling, I make my way inside. After searching downstairs, I hurry up the steps. The only door closed is Isla’s. I knock before entering. My sister looks a lot like me, but more enhanced: darker skin, lighter hair, bigger boobs, wider eyes. She is drop-dead gorgeous – the kind of beauty that has people staring openly in the street when we pass. I hate how aware I am of it. Isla has a way of turning everything into a competition. If I receive a compliment, she must have three. If I do something well, she does it better. She looks up at me like she already knows exactly what I’m thinking, a not-quite-smile tugging at her mouth – more a smirk than anything else – and it’s utterly infuriating.

‘Hey,’ I say, eyeing her outfit. She’s dressed in ripped jeans and an oversized band t-shirt that drowns her eye-catching curves. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun on the top of her head. She used to never be seen without a full face of makeup, a miniskirt, and heels. Now, it’s as though she’s doing everything she can to be the opposite. ‘You coming down?’

I glance at my own outfit: a pale-pink dress that stops mid-thigh, with petite white flowers on it. Mum picked it out for me. She loves playing dress-ups with us, as if we are her own personal dolls.

‘No.’

I lift my eyes. She’s picking at her black nail polish, so chipped it barely covers half her nail. Isla is two years older than me, but sometimes it feels like more.

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t feel well.’

I narrow my eyes. This is the third time in a row she’s bailed on a family function. Our mum puts a lot of pressure on us to attend everything. We must be the picture-perfect family everyone wants. For a long time, we were, but something is different now. Isla is different. She used to be a carbon copy of Mum, as if it were a battle of who could be more perfect, but something has changed in her.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, moving to the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

‘I don’t want to fucking go, all right?’ she snaps, shoving to her feet and stepping away from me.

I flinch at her tone. ‘What the hell?’

She folds her arms over her chest, and I look at them. ‘What’s on your arm? Are they bruises?’

‘Fuck off and get out of my room!’ she snarls at me, lunging toward me and pushing me so hard that I tumble off the bed. I cry out, throwing my hands out only just in time to catch myself.

‘You’re such a fucking bitch!’ I hiss at her. I’ve never been one to swear and I’m shocked when the words leave my mouth. I stomp out of her room and slam the door so hard that it rattles the walls. Releasing a shaky breath, I stride through the hall and down the steps. My stepfather is at the bottom of them, looking at me curiously.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks. ‘Where’s Isla?’

‘In her room. She said she doesn’t feel well.’ I sigh. ‘And she was a total asshole to me.’

‘Language.’

‘Tell her that,’ I mutter, before going back outside.

The cool afternoon air washes over me as I move things around on the table, arranging them correctly before plucking a grape from one of the fruit bowls, trying to shake off the encounter with Isla.

‘Can you go grab the napkins, love?’ Mum asks as she brushes past me, and I nod. I’m taking my time in the kitchen, enjoying the peace and quiet, when the doorbell rings. I push away from the counter and pad to the door, seeing a guy I don’t recognise standing there.

‘Bryn Walter?’ he asks.

‘That’s me,’ I say, eyeing the rose in his hand. He hands it over.

‘For you.’

‘For me?’ I echo, staring down at it in surprise. ‘Wow. Thank you.’

‘There’s a note,’ he points to the small white envelope. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Thanks, you too,’ I reply distractedly. I run my thumb over one of the petals before I open the note.

For Bryn. I owe you my life. Meet me tonight, at the docks on East Side. 8 p.m.

– Ash

Biting my lip, I try to hide my smile.