Read Online Under My Skin by James Dawson - Free Book Online

dark.’
    Sally almost vomited then and there on the welcome mat.
    She’s going to know. She’s going to know as soon as she looks at me.
    Sally had always been a terrible liar; she was going to be in so much trouble. In her parents’ eyes, girls had been locked in iron masks for less. Her skin was suddenly unbearably hot, the tattoo at the epicentre of the heatwave.
    Her mum just looked at her. ‘Well?’
    â€˜Sorry – I forgot to get Daddy’s parcel. I had to go back.’
    Her mum brushed a lock of hair out of her face. ‘Oh, you’re such a scatterbrain, Sally.’ She took the box out of her hands and headed back to the kitchen. The conversation was apparently over. ‘I can’t trust you with the most basic errands. Go and wash your hands for supper, please. It’s your favourite. Corn beef hash.’
    Number one: Sally hadn’t liked corn beef hash since she was about five – it’s a meat tumour. Number two: she’d got away with it. She looked around the frilly house – the lounge to her right and dining room to her left. Everything was as it should be: the grandfather clock ticked away, the immaculately polished photographs lining the staircase, the vases overflowing with fresh hydrangeas. If she angled her ear towards the lounge, she could hear Tweetie, her mother’s canary, picking through the seed in her cage. Everything was the same, but she was different.
    And no one else knew but her.
    She recalled Rosita’s words about secret strength. Supressing a smile, Sally dashed upstairs towards the bathroom.
    Getting through dinner was a struggle. She was sure her dad would spot something was wrong, but he seemed far more concerned about uncovering the identity of the co-worker who’d dinged his car outside the bank.
    As Sally tried to stomach supper, her initial dread turned to something like hysteria. She had to supress the urge to giggle manically. The words, ‘I GOT A TATTOO,’ sat right at the very tip of her tongue. The more she thought of potential punishments her father might dole out (being dragged through the town centre behind a horse-drawn cart, being made to wear an
I’m a heathen
sandwich board while ringing a bell outside church), the more she wanted to laugh.
    It was so clear now. They might well be her parents but these were not her people. Despite her and their best attempts to make a cookie-cut daughter, Sally did not belong in this house – a fact pencilled in since birth. Getting a tattoo signed it in ink. It didn’t bother her so much, though. In fact, admitting it was quite freeing.
    After maintaining invisibility over dinner, Sally ducked through the fence to Stan’s house. She was sore and exhausted, but she figured if she didn’t go over like she’d promised, he’d know something was up and she wasn’t sure she’d hold up under interrogation.
    Stan was in the kitchen when she arrived, waiting for microwave popcorn to finish. He was wearing his pyjamas even though it was only a little after seven. ‘Hey,’ he said after she’d run the gauntlet of their cluttered hallway. ‘Can you get the Coke out of the fridge? Kareem lent me
Hacksaw 5
on DVD. We can watch that if you want.’
    â€˜Is that the one with the evil clown?’ Sally went to the fridge.
    â€˜It sure is!’ He gingerly pinched the steaming bag out of the microwave and tipped it into a bowl, sucking his burned fingers. Job done, Stan turned round and looked at her for the first time. ‘Are you OK?’
    â€˜Yeah. I’m fine.’
    â€˜You look different.’
    Sally’s heart plummeted into her feet. She steeled herself and avoided the truth. ‘I’m wearing exactly what I had on at school.’
    Stan scrutinised her. ‘Yeah, but . . . I don’t know . . . you just look different.’
    â€˜Nope. Same as ever.’ She wasn’t even sure why she