Chapter 2: Just Another Pretty Pawn

My dad is something else.

He never married—just cycled through girlfriends like fantasy football picks—and has enough kids to field a Little League team.

I’m number seven—not too high, not too low.

Seven out of who knows how many. Like a worn ball cap in a row of hand-me-downs, just another addition to the crowd. Sometimes I think Dad keeps a running scoreboard just to keep track.

Originally, I was just another daughter, barely noticeable, but I happened to be pretty.

My mom is a minor actress, not too bad herself.

But I outdid them both, inheriting all the best genes—so attractive that I got scouted for modeling so often, I started carrying business cards just to hand them back.

Ever since I was a kid, my drawer overflowed with candy and scribbled notes from admirers.

My admirers could fill a Yankees game, and even the teachers gossiped about who left notes in my locker.

Honestly, it was a hassle—how was I supposed to get them to give up?

Sometimes it felt like walking through a crowd where everyone wore my name on their shirts, like a never-ending pep rally I never wanted. Even teachers would ask about my latest admirers, like it was small-town news.

Before I could figure it out, something even bigger happened.

My dad’s company hit a financial crisis.

To get out of it, my dad used his so-called brilliant brain—slicker than a new bowling ball—to come up with a genius plan.

—Send me to some big shot in Chicago.

Even worse, since I looked good, the big shot was very satisfied.

With a wave of his hand, my dad’s company was saved.

Dad was happy, the big shot was happy.

Only I wasn’t.

It felt like being auctioned off at a fancy steakhouse—everyone smiling but me.

And now, something even worse has happened to me.