Esmeralda has a secret.
A big secret.
It was a secret only she had known. Even her closest friends didn't know about this certain furtive. And it wasn't because Esmeralda did not want to involve anyone in it, it was simply because she preferred her other life—the one all the people outside had known—at bay. Esmeralda regarded freedom as something very important. Her privacy and freedom, to be exact.
She had a Polish mother who was long gone, and a father who didn't really care for anything except grounding her up. Esmeralda's thirst for the things she regarded the same as rare jewels were reflected in her big secret. She didn't want her life as Esmeralda Sanders, the girl who constantly stuttered, that nerd with an awkward short stature—to interfere to who she was in that big secret she made.
The book she was writing.
