PROLOGUE

Nick's POV

A loud crash sounded from upstairs. Probably a picture falling off the wall.

"She's not good for anything, Martha!" my stepfather shouted. "All she does is karate and sit in front of that goddamn computer!"

"You don't think I know that's all she does!?" my mother yelled back. Another crash. "I may not like her but I got myself into this mess and I have a responsibility to her! We're not getting rid of her!"

"Think of all the money we could save on food, the electric bill, the water bill-"

"Don't do this again! This is more than money. This is about my pride!"

You might think they were talking about the family dog. But no, there were talking about me, their own daughter.

I sat in the closet under the stairs with my laptop open. I had been thinking about doing it for months now, and there I was, the page pulled up and my mouse pointer on the submit button, the closest I had ever come to actually doing it.

I chickened out at the last minute, closing the laptop and putting it aside before covering my eyes with my palms.

Lying back on the pile of pillows I had stolen from the couch, I wondered how my life had come to this. Once upon a time I had had a loving family, but now my older brother was off in college, my dad was dead, my mother had shown her true colors, and my new stepfather was a monster. And here I was debating on whether I should join the youth military training squad at the local university so I could graduate a year early and get out of that godforsaken house.

"I told you I didn't like children when we got married, Martha!"

"And I told you that Nicole was going to college and getting out of the house-"

"How is she going to go to college!? We don't have the money!"

The kids that join the military training squad get into the university for free…

I opened the computer again and sat it on my stomach, typing in the passcode. The moment I pressed enter the sign-up page for the youth military training squad popped up on the screen. I spared a nervous glance to the gender portion of the application, then pulled up my inbox to read the e-mail the university had sent me the first time I applied.

Dear Ms. Johnson:

I am sorry to say that there are no female slots in the youth military training squad remaining for the upcoming school year.

Sincerely,

Farrah Founder

Dean of Admissions

I took a deep breath and clicked "M" and "submit."

I was rewarded with an e-mail in my inbox moments later congratulating a Mr. Nicholas Johnson on his acceptance to the university. I nearly threw up.

I was fifteen, going to college, running away from home, and joining a military training squad disguised as the opposite sex.

The term started in two weeks and I was going to die.