Isla picks up on the tension and shrugs. She’s trying to act nonchalant about it, probably to impress me, but the depth of her pain is obvious.
“And are you?” I ask quietly.
She blinks up at me, like the concept of that question has never occurred to her before.
“Of course she’s not a freak,” Kinsley cuts in right away. Ever the lioness prowling around her cub. I hold her gaze for a moment, enough to make it clear I’m waiting on an answer from Isla, not from her mother.
“I… I don’t think I am,” Isla says finally. “I mean, sometimes I feel like one because of the things they say to me. But when I’m drawing, I don’t feel like one.”
“Good. Trust your own instincts, Isla,” I tell her. “They’ll never fail you if you listen close enough.”
She frowns. “That’s not as easy as it sounds.”
I l
