As if the very parts of me he used to laugh with, dream with, and swear loyalty to, were now the things that disgusted him most. He used to tell me I was the best person he knew. Now I’d become something he had to prove he never wanted.
I tore open the granola bar with more force than necessary.
“You want to talk about it?” Amira asked quietly.
I shook my head again, eyes fixed on the table. “No,” I said. “Not today.”
She nodded, already knowing that would be the answer.And somehow, her silence was almost enough.Almost. She capped her highlighter and leaned her chin into her palm, studying me. “You still going this weekend?”
It took me a second to realize what she meant. “The exhibition?” I asked.
“Yeah. The gallery thing. Are you still going?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. We leave Friday.”
“Your mom excited?”
“She won’t stop talking about it,” I said, trying to sound amused. It came out flat.
“I bet.” Amira hesitated, then added, “She’s proud of you, you know. I heard her bragging about it at the PTA meeting. Something about you beinggifted.” She grinned, teasing lightly. “God, you’re insufferable.”
I gave her a half-hearted smile, but it didn’t stick.
Then she sighed and flopped her pencil down. “I still can’t believe the wedding is next week. Like… Darien Carter is about toofficiallybecome your stepbrother. That’s wild.”
The sound of his name hit me like a sucker punch.
She tilted her head. “You okay with all of that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said, too fast, too stiff.
Amira stared at me. “I mean, it’s weird, right? The guy who used to be your best friend is now gonna be yourstepbrother? You two are oil and water. Spark and kerosene. Vinegar and?—”
“I’mfinewith it,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay. Not pushing. Just saying, I’d be weirded out. Just watch your back.”
My eyes dropped to my textbook, not really seeing it. Weirddidn’t even begin to cover it. There wasn’t a word for this kind of constant anguish.
Dare haunted every corner of my life now. The kitchen. The backyard. The stupid hallway by the laundry room, where we used to race to see who could do the dumbest trick slide across the tile. Now his toothbrush sat next to mine. His shoes are by the door. His father’s annoying laughter echoed in the house.
I missed him.
And I resented him.
And I missed him even more because of it.
Amira watched me for a second longer, like she was deciding whether to let me keep pretending I was fine.
She didn’t.
“Okay,” she said, voice softer now. “So you’re spiraling. That’s fine. But we’re still getting frozen cocoa after school. I’m not letting you sit in your room all night, staring daggers at your door every time he makes a sound across the hall.”
I cracked a real smile this time, small and tired, but real. She grinned back, victorious.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll get whipped cream and sit in the booth by the window. You can talk or not talk. I’ll do dramatic readings of math word problems in a British accent if I have to.”
“I’d pay money to hear that.”
