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Logline
In fulfilling a promise she made to her twin on his deathbed, Peyton Thomas disguises herself as a boy and tries out for football, unleashing a chain of events that force her to grapple with her identity, her guilt, and her family's grief.
Blurb
I have a lot of secrets.
Trying out for my new school's football team disguised as a boy is only the beginning. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm developing a disturbing crush on a teammate.
But that's not my worst secret.
Nobody here knows I have a twin brother named Pax. Or that he died last year. And that I might be delusional because I see him and hear him, everywhere.
Or maybe it's the guilt that haunts me. Because I know deep down that my father is the one who killed him. And keeping that secret somehow makes me complicit.
But my biggest secret of all is that I'm afraid that I'll never be able to forgive my dad for Pax's death.
Until I can put that ghost to rest, my brother's spirit will be forever lost in the liminal space between this world and the next. And I am lost in this world without him.
~Chapter One~
Shaving My Head, and Other Jackass Moves
If you're going to shave your head, I recommend a power song to get you through it. Mine's "This Kid's Not Alright."
I'm barricaded in my bathroom, scissors in one hand and a pale lock of hair in the other. I swallow hard and take a good look at myself in the mirror.
This might be your worst idea ever.
"You're probably right," I tell the voice that has taken up residence in my head. I glance down at the flier I snuck into my pocket at school registration. "Looking for a few good men," it says.
I take a deep breath and scrutinize the reflection gazing back at me. "It's only hair. It'll grow back."
Fine. You wanna be the badass? Then be the badass.
"Okay, okay. Here it goes," I mutter.
I hack away at the hair gathered at the nape of my neck until the entire thing is severed. Then, starting on the left side of my skull, I trace the curve of my ear and neck with the clippers, trying not to get too distracted as the remaining hair drifts to the ground like dismembered dove wings.
Long strands of hair cling to my arms and shoulders, the way corn silk sticks to your hands when you shuck an ear of corn. I don't think I adequately prepared myself for that visual. My heart thuds against my ribcage, threatening to leap out as reality sinks in. I pick up the pace before I chicken out completely.
