I hear snickering come from behind us and when I turn around, Diana is covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking as she walks.
“Wow,” I tease. “So you only laugh when it’s at my expense.”
Diana doubles over in laughter. “I’m not a sadist, I swear,” she claims, still laughing like it’s breathing for her.
“You’re still laughing.”
The three of us reach a stop light. Diana presses the button and we wait for the little white stick figure to appear so we can cross the street.
“She just reminds me of my little sister,” Diana says as we stand by the edge of the crosswalk.
I raise a brow. “You have sisters, too?”
“Just one,” she corrects, fidgeting with her wrist. Is that some sort of nervous tick?
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Is your hand okay?”
Just as the question leaves my mouth, both her hands fall to her sides. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. You do that a lot for it to be nothing,Just Diana.”
She shrugs. “It’s just an old injury flare-up. No big deal.”
My eyes widen in shock. Even my fairly drunk twin sister finds that insane because she whips her head in Diana’s direction. “I’m sorry, what?”
Just an old injury flare-up? Coming from a human biology major, that’s not something one should downplay.
“It’s really not a big deal,” Diana assures us.
Carly turns to me with her dilated pupils, trying to see how I’m going to react.
“That’s not what I would call it.”
“What would you call it then, Doc?” Diana crosses both hands over her chest.
I’ve injured myself on multiple occasions in the past and I’ve associated a flare-up with two things: a real fucking bad injury or one that just never healed properly. She put me on the spot—and that’s not something I’m very familiar with.
Thankfully, the white stick figure flashes before I’m able to answer and I can switch the topic. “We should probably cross.”
“You know,” Carly slurs as I wrap one of her arms around my shoulders and guide her drunk self across the street. “You look a whole lot like Ana De Armas.”
“Who?” I ask.
“How are we related, Little Cars?”
I sigh. Do I reallyhaveto go over the logistics of how my twin sister and I came to be? Nope, I refuse to do so. “Carly, you seriously need some–”
But she refuses to listen. Instead, points to a stand in front of us. “Ooh! Tacos! We should get some.”
“Uh, Carly,” Diana interjects. “I don’t think it’s open at this hour.”
As we approach the stand, we find that Diana’s wrong. The truck is open and active without anyone waiting in line.
My sister turns to me, with wide blue eyes and lips out like a begging puppy. “Can we get some, Carson? Please?”
As if I’m asking for approval, my gaze moves over to Diana. She’s been walking to my far left, where my sister stands (or rather, hobbles) between us. That girl is willingly forcing space between us.
At least it’s only physical space. Diana isn’t avoiding any topic of conversation (that will be the day) because she responds with, “The tacos could sober her up.”
