Gladys O'Brien felt a sudden urge to leave this -- no, her room. She stepped out and found herself uncertain about which way to turn. It was as if she had never been in her own house until today, which made no sense. Her parents had bought it even before she was born. She walked down a hallway decorated with family photos. Lauren had been systematically replaced by her while the other O'Briens remained in the same poses. Gladys looked nothing like her new parents. But her DNA had already begun to match theirs. Not all traits were visible.
Gladys locked the front door and walked out to her car. Wait, she didn't drive, did she? The Brewers always drove their daughter around. But she wasn't a Brewer anymore. She was -- and had always been -- an O'Brien. She instinctively pulled keys out of her Kate Spade purse and inserted one into the driver's side door of a new Camaro convertible. It was pink even though that color was supposed to be a no-no for redheads like her.
Like me? thought Gladys. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was still Brewer brown. She had to be seeing things. No way her hair could be that mousy. Her tresses gained reddish highlights under the setting sun as she drove toward the mall.
A smattering of faint freckles started to grace her nose. Other girls might have tried to conceal their freckles, but Gladys was determined to set her own style. The color of her car was just one example of her defiance. Sarah and her friends needed her guidance.
