(Do Not Read Back Up Copy)

Chapter I

Hailey

My dad has a gun he thinks I don’t know about. 

I found it yesterday in his bedroom. Technically, the place is supposed to be "off limits", but I’m not too good with imaginary lines. I snuck in when he was out. Golf and midday bourbon keeps him distant most afternoons. Those are the golden hours. Makes sneaking around a cinch, and I like life easy.

Dad stepped out at around noon and by the time he’d dragged his ten-irons out the front door I’d bobby-pinned my way into his supposedly tamper proof lock. He had it manufactured special, "senators-with-expensive-secrets special", but I can pop it open in about thirty seconds on a good day, and yesterday felt like one of those—for a little while, at least.

I didn’t start off snooping for secrets. I broke in for the books. Reading anything rare or out of print is a guilty pleasure, but perusing private auction bought first editions is a new addiction. Dad’s got a case full of them near his desk. They’re perfect. Perched-behind-glass perfect.

He doesn’t read any, just collects them—an old money habit of his. Sneaking a peak at his first edition of Alice in Wonderland is one of mine and I'll violate his privacy until I finish it. That book and I have a long standing love-affair, mainly because it’s crazy, and when you’re as bored as I’ve been lately, crazy seems pretty exciting. Maybe it’s the magic doors and rabbit holes, but I like the idea that life comes with those things. 

Little doors and rabbit holes.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m no real life Alice, and seriously believing in magic at eighteen probably makes you schizophrenic, but I needed something out of the ordinary, and the idea that popped into my head after finishing the book was it. I started digging around my Dad's room for a real life rabbit hole on the off chance that I’d find one.

And I did. 

Not an actual rabbit hole, but a place in the floor vent behind the desk where Dad must’ve taken off the grating one too many times. I jiggled the top a little, popped off the metal covering, and there it was—an old polished box big enough to keep the vent grate from fitting into the ground properly. 

Figuring out the lock combination was as simple as my Mom’s birthday. Dad still uses it as his password for everything. He’d deny that if you asked him, though. He denies a lot of things lately. 

Anyway, that's how I found it—the gun in the vent grate.

And as quickly as I found it, I left it alone. I’d have it coming if Dad caught me. But, at least now I can say that I know what his secrets look like. 

My Dad’s kind of a big wig in D.C., so I guess he felt safer with a gun. But I didn't. Maybe it's the pacifist in me from my Mom's side, I don't know. I tried un-freaking myself out about the whole thing, but, when weird things like gun stashes show up, you're supposed to pay attention, or you pay for it later. I watch a lot of movies, so I know these things. 

I had a Colt 45 stuck in the back of my head for the rest of the day. Dad came home, dinner was awkward and silent, but it always is. He doesn’t pay attention to much of anything, so picking up on how tense I was didn't even register. 

I skipped out on reruns of Gossip Girl later that night, popped a couple Benadryl and knocked out early. I wouldn’t have fallen asleep otherwise. Secrets aren’t easy to sleep on. 

I passed out on my bedroom floor and woke up nervous. Sweat-through-my-tank-top nervous. I shouldn’t have been, though. Summer was starting and today was gonna be too hectic to worry about an old gun in an air vent. So, I made a point to drop the whole thing, forced myself to forget, which was tougher than I thought, but I did it to keep myself sane.