“What?”
“Dan.” A warning from my mother.
“What test?”
Dad points at Ginny’s calendar, open to June of last year. The week-end she’d visited them—the weekend she died—is circled. “D-Day,” he says, pointing to the tiny note she’d made in the corner of that Saturday. I’d always assumed Ginny had written it as a joke—spending time with our parents was like going to war.
“Ginny was supposed to take the MCAT that weekend,” my dad says, and I swear I can hear my mother steeling herself. “But she never got the chance.”
That’s unbelievable. Yes, Ginny had been premed in college, but she’d ditched that path to be our band manager. It was yet another thing my mother held against me. “MCAT . . . as in the test people take . . . ”
“To get into med school.” My mom sighs. “Ginny was planning to apply.”
I laugh. “No, she wasn’t.” My parents are officially delusional. “Ginny was our manager, remember?”
For the first time since entering Ginny’s room, my father turns from the calendar. His expression makes me take a step back.
This would be a really good time for Ginny to materialize and clear things up. But she remains out of reach, like she’s been since the night I kissed Theo at the bonfire party.
My mom has always been good at delivering bad news. Just gets in there and rips off the Band-Aid. It used to drive me crazy as a kid—I used to want to shout,Feel something! Share my pain!But for the first time, I’m grateful for her bluntness.
“Ginny was doing a lot of thinking the last year of her life,” she says, without an ounce of feeling. “She was ready for a change. She decided she wanted to go to med school and become a doctor. Carve a new path in life that was all her own.”
“She was excited,” my dad adds. There are tears in his eyes. “About her future.”
There are some things that are simply too much to process, and the idea that Ginny was planning to abandon me is one of them. “No,” I repeat. “She wouldn’t have kept that a secret.”
“She was worried you’d be upset with her,” my mother says. “You know your sister never wanted to disappoint you.”
“That’s not true.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “We were working on new songs. We had big plans.”
My mother shifts. She and my father silently communicate. “She always wanted to be in medicine,” my mother says, still matter-of-fact.
“No.” I glare at her. “That’s whatyouwanted. Ginny wanted to be in the band.”
“No,” says my mother sharply. “That’s whatyouwanted.”
We stare at each other. “You’re lying,” I say.
“She spent her last eight months studying for the MCAT. Didn’t she, Dan?”
My father nods.
“She wanted to take the test in Bonita Vista so she wouldn’t have to worry about you finding out. She was trying to be considerate.”
I shake my head. “Stop.”
“I don’t get it, Hannah.” My mother’s tone is incredulous. “Can’t you appreciate that your sister wanted to be the star of her own life for once?”
The accusation is clear: I’d made my sister invisible while she was alive, always second to me. Ginny had hopes and dreams of her own, but she was afraid to tell me. I’d thought we were closer than any two people in the world.
Ginny appears by the foot of her bed. I’ve never seen her look so guilty.
I grip my hair. “Where have youbeen? You left me all alone.”
She shakes her head—a small, measured movement. “You weren’t alone.” “Hannah.” My mother’s voice is sharp. “Are you talking to us?” “Why did you keep this a secret from me?” I’m desperate for Ginny
to tell me I’ve misunderstood, that she was happy and my parents have lied. “What secret? Hannah Marie Cortland, who are youtalkingto?” my mother says.
