The cameras had been rolling less than five minutes when I learned that my mother was supposed to become the villain.
Chapter 1
I was 17 years old, standing beside Grace Lane in the marble foyer of a California villa called Second Chance House, when glowing words appeared in the air above her head.
Finally. The difficult woman has arrived.
Her daughter will get jealous.
Give it three episodes before they destroy themselves.
I blinked twice. The words remained.
My mother saw nothing. She was too busy gripping the handle of her suitcase with both hands and smiling at strangers as though she owed them an apology for taking up space.
That was Grace’s habit. She had spent most of her forty-two years making herself smaller so other people could feel comfortable.
The producers called Second Chance House a “family dating experiment.” Two widowed or divorced fathers had come with their sons. Two single mothers had come with their daughters. The adults were supposedly there to explore romance while the children decided whether the families could fit together.
The villa itself looked like a luxury hotel designed by someone who believed beige was a personality. Cameras hid in bookshelves, flowerpots, ceiling corners, kitchen cabinets, and even decorative birdhouses in the garden. I felt sorry for the birds.
“Grace, welcome,” said Malcolm Reed, the executive producer. He had perfect teeth, expensive sneakers, and eyes that never seemed to smile even when his mouth did. “Just be yourself.”
That should have frightened us more than it did.
Near the fireplace stood Ethan Ward, a forty-six-year-old real-estate developer from Seattle. His ten-year-old son, Theo, held a little black notebook against his chest and watched everyone with solemn gray eyes.
Beside the kitchen stood Rowan Blake, a high-school history teacher from Oregon. His eight-year-old son, Max, was already investigating a platter of cookies with the concentration of a bomb technician.
Then the other mother entered.
Celeste Moore knew exactly where the sunlight was.
She paused beneath the tall windows so the late-afternoon glow caught her brown hair. Her thirteen-year-old daughter, Lily, wore a pale cardigan and carried herself with the fragile sweetness of a child in a holiday commercial.
More glowing comments floated above them.
There she is. The mother everyone will love.
Celeste deserves Ethan.
Poor Lily. Ava is going to be horrible to her.
My name is Ava.
Apparently, I had developed the world’s most irritating supernatural gift.
Celeste approached my mother and tilted her head with practiced sympathy. “Grace, you must be nervous. This kind of attention can be overwhelming when you’re not used to it.”
My mother’s fingers tightened around her suitcase.
I smiled.
“She raised me alone,” I said. “National television is probably less frightening.”
Rowan made a sound that could have been a cough or a laugh.
Celeste’s smile stayed in place. “And you must be Ava.”
“Unfortunately for anyone expecting me to be quiet.”
The comments flashed again.
There it is. Jealous daughter energy.
I was beginning to understand. These weren’t comments about what was happening now. They felt like reactions from some future audience, people watching an edited version of our lives after producers had decided who the heroes and villains were supposed to be.
Then another sentence appeared.
Tonight, Grace will be accused of pushing Lily.
My stomach turned cold.
I looked at Lily.
She glanced toward a camera hidden beside the sofa. Then she looked at Ethan. Celeste tapped two fingers against her wrist.
Lily stepped backward.
I moved.
There was a small side table near the sofa with a decorative vase. As I passed, I nudged the vase just enough to turn the hidden camera several inches.
Lily checked Ethan again.
Then she deliberately twisted one foot, threw herself backward, and cried out.
I kicked a sofa cushion into her path.
She landed harmlessly against the couch.
“She pushed me!”
The room froze.
My mother’s face went white.
“I didn’t touch her.”
Celeste rushed forward. “Lily! Honey, are you all right?” She wrapped her arms around her daughter and looked at Grace with wounded disbelief. “Grace, what happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Mom said. “I was standing over there.”
I walked into the center of the room.
“She’s right. Mom was at least ten feet away. Unless she recently developed telekinesis, we should probably check the footage.”
Malcolm stepped from behind one of the cameramen. “There’s no need to upset the children. Lily may simply have been startled.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Then the video should make everyone feel better.”
Theo’s gaze moved toward the camera I had adjusted.
Max raised his hand while chewing a cookie. “I vote for video.”
Rowan sighed. “Finish chewing.”
Max swallowed. “I vote for video.”
Ethan looked at Theo. Theo gave a tiny nod.
“Let’s see it,” Ethan said.
Five minutes later, everyone stood around the large television in the living room.
The recording showed Lily checking the camera.
It showed Celeste’s signal.
It showed Lily placing her foot incorrectly on purpose.
It showed Grace standing nowhere near her.
Nobody spoke.
Lily’s face crumpled. This time, I couldn’t tell how much of it was acting.
Celeste recovered first. “She must have panicked. Children sometimes tell strange stories when they’re frightened.”
Grace looked at Lily, and despite everything, her voice softened.
“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”
Something changed in Lily’s expression. Only for a second.
Then Celeste pulled her close and led her away.
The glowing words above the television began to flicker.
Wait. Grace didn’t push her.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.
Maybe Ava planned it.
I stared at those words until they vanished.
So the future wasn’t fixed.
The story could be changed.
The producers wanted my mother to become a villain, and someone had already begun helping them do it.
I looked across the room at Malcolm.
He was staring at me now.
And for the first time since we entered Second Chance House, he wasn’t smiling.
