“You think I shouldn’t? You think I should stay with Mom?”
She shook her head, her dark hair falling in tangles around her shoulders. “I meant, you’re going with Violet?”
“Well…yes.”
Amelia huffed a breath and wiped her nose. “Do you know what I wanted to talk to Mom about?”
“No.”
“Everything. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted a hundred conversations with her…all the ones we’re not going to have. I wanted to keep talking until we’d said everything there was to say in a lifetime so that I could… I could…” Tears choked her throat.
Say goodbye.
I started to put my arm around my sister, but she pushed it away.
“So what are you doing?” she demanded.
“I don’t understand.”
“Why are you bringing Violet over here and parading her in front of Mom instead of Holden?”
My stomach clenched as if my sister had gut punched me. “How did you…?”
“I’ve known forever. Or suspected. Since that first dance you were supposed to go to. I saw you leave with Holden. With the silver hair? I didn’t think much of it at first, but then he came over that one day to drop off a book.”
“Flowers for Algernon,” I murmured.
Amelia nodded. “I knew then. The way he said your name… He tried to sound all casual, but he couldn’t do it. It was like he was glowing.”
“Glowing? No…”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “Not literally,duh. But I’ve seen you with your bonehead friends enough to know what regular friendship looks like. You and Holden?” She shook her head. “No chance.”
A thousand denials rose to my lips, but I swallowed them all down, suddenly on the verge of my own goddamn tears.
Amelia scooted closer to me on the bed. “Is he who you’ve been seeing all those late nights?”
I nodded.
Her small hand patted my arm. “Do you love him?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. But what can I do? I’m going to college.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Violet,” I said with a harsh laugh. “Irony of ironies.”
“The same Violet you ditched at homecoming and are going to prom with this actual night?” Amelia made a face. “Wow. That is one understanding girl.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You should tellMomabout it,” Amelia said, her voice crackingagain. “Tell her everything. She’s not going to care that you’re…gay? Bi?” She waved a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. But if you care about Holden, you should tellher. She wants to know that stuff. She wants you to be happy.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said heavily. “You know how Dad is about football. It would change everything.”
“Is that so bad?”
I sighed, and my eyes fell on a set of her Russian dolls lined up in a row, painted in brilliant reds, blues, and yellows, each one growing successively smaller.
