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alleyway—Petey and his girl getting into it, I supposed. Just like that I flashed back to reality. I didn’t even know the guy’s name, and obviously he was a shameless player with a flirt addiction. This was my life I was trying to start here. I had to stay focused.
    I strode across the street and shoved my way inside Daria’s. The acrid scent of bleach mixed with nose-itching aerosol hairspray hit me square in the senses.
    Daria Case looked up from the roots she was checking. She’d put on about ten pounds, but otherwise the folds of her face, the particular salt-and-pepper of her hair, and the goldbracelets on her arms were exactly as I remembered them. Suddenly I felt like Gigi was about to walk in from the back room, and I almost laughed and cried at the same time.
    â€œHi there!” Daria said brightly. “What can I do for you today, sweet pea?”
    I smiled. “Sweet pea” had been my grandmother’s nickname for me. I took Daria’s use of it as a sign. There was no recognition behind her eyes, so I knew I was truly safe. I tugged my cap off, shaking my hair out over my shoulders.
    â€œCut it all off, please,” I said. “And dye it. Blond.”

Chapter Three
    â€œI’d love the help, believe me. But I’m not really supposed to make decisions without checking with my dad first.”
    Wow. That sounded familiar.
    The girl behind the counter at the Little Tree Diner—Fiona, if her name tag was to be trusted—looked like she’d just been through finals. Twice. Her stringy blond hair fell out of what might once have been a neat bun but now looked more like something dug out of a bath drain. She had purple splotches under her eyes, her skin was dry, and her gaze darted around the busy room like she was waiting for it to explode.
    â€œWell . . . is your dad coming in soon?” I asked.
    â€œNot until tonight.”
    â€œMiss?” someone shouted. “Miss! I need more butter!”
    â€œMiss? This burger is undercooked.”
    â€œI ordered chicken parm, not chicken piccata.”
    â€œFiona? A little help over here?” a busboy asked.
    Fiona’s small shoulders slumped. “Can you start right now?”
    â€œYou’re serious?” I asked.
    â€œI mean, I can’t guarantee you’ll get a full-time position, but we’re understaffed today . . . clearly,” she replied, wiping her hands on her black waist-apron. “Jason, can you please get the butter and fix those mixed-up orders while I talk to . . .”
    She looked at me for a name.
    â€œLia,” I said. “Lia Washington.”
    It sounded perfectly natural rolling off my tongue. I’m sure my proud smile confused her.
    â€œNice to meet you, Lia. I’m Fiona Taylor,” she replied.
    Jason scurried off to do as she’d asked, and Fiona started bussing.
    â€œI’ve got one girl who called in sick, one who helpfully texted an hour ago to tell me she landed a contract in Nashville and isn’t coming back, and my dumbass brother is forty-five minutes late,” she explained. “I’ll pay you out of my own wages if I have to.”
    She looked up at me and her skin went blotchy. “Sorry. I don’t usually swear.”
    Had she sworn? I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy hoping my butt off that this would turn into a real job somehow. “Oh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
    â€œCan you wait tables?” she asked. “Do you have any experience?”
    â€œYes!” I said. “I waited tables at my school back . . . at school.”
    Terrified that I’d almost blurted out a biographical detail, I looked away and reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. Except my hair wasn’t there anymore. This Lia Washington person—her background, her look, her life—was going to take some getting used to. I caught my reflection in the