“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She raises her hands, leaning back on the boards. “I didn't say anything.”
I point at her face. The one that looks like a mirror image of mine. “I know that look. You've got something to say, so say it.”
She sighs. “Fine. You're following the same pattern you always do.”
“Which is?”
She closes her eyes. “I can't believe you're going to make me say this.” Then she blows out a breath, staring at the ground. “You are so afraid of failure, Laura, that you never let people truly see you shine.”
I crinkle my nose. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You worry so much about everyone’s opinions that you either give up on things or keep them secret.”
“Can you blame me?” I say quietly. “I have a gold-medal-winning twin sister. It's pretty hard to be taken seriously.”
She gives me a small, placating smile. She's known how I feel for the longest time, and in a way, that makes it hurt more. Growing up, she'd always pull back and dim herself, just to make me look like I was catching up. I never was. It didn’t matter how many auditions I went to; I’d never be able to compete with the Olympics. “You could've won a gold medal right alongside me. You just gave up before you could realize that dream.”
“Because it wasn't mine,” I admit, a little more defensive now. This isn’t the first time she’s mentioned it to me.
Her shoulders slump, and she joins me on the bench.
After a moment of silence, she knocks me with her elbow.
“I know it wasn’t your dream, but that’s not the point. I worked my ass off to get where I am. I wasn’t just born good at skating; I fought for every inch of it. But you? Your voice is something else entirely. It’s incredible, and yet hardly anyone gets to hear it. That’s what kills me.”
“That's not by choice.”
“You sure? You've had plenty of opportunities, Laure.”
“Yeah, ones I’ve failed at.”
“Because you’re picking the wrong things to audition for.”
“I audition foreverything.”
“Do you?”
I nod, annoyed now.
“Do you remember when that singing competition came to our hometown and everyone in high school was expecting you to audition for it? We were allso excited for you, and I remember practicing my speech about how incredible you are for the camera because it was obvious you were going to get picked and they were going to need to film family and friends. Only, no cameras ever came, because you didn’t even try.”
“Yeah, but that was because I don't see myself as just a singer. I'm an actress too, and I didn't want to be pigeonholed into pop when I don’t know if that’s where I want my career to go.”
She frowns. “Do you think that hasn’t just proven my point?”
“What?”
She laughs. “You're so pretentious sometimes. Every opportunity has a flaw. Nothing is perfect, but it’s a stepping stone in the right direction. So what I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to start paying attention to what opportunities offer instead of what they’re missing.”
She's right. I know it. She knows it, but I'll never acknowledge it out loud. Seeing Noelle being so successful so young has given me stage fright of my own life.
“I'm trying,” I whisper. “That's why I asked for your help.”
She leans over and places her hand on my knee. “I know, and that's why I'm here. You're amazing, sis, and everyone deserves to hear your voice. Let's make sure they get the opportunity to.” Noelle moves to kneel in front of me, batting my hands away. “Here, let me do it before you cut off all circulation to your feet.”
I let her take over, grateful despite feeling like a kid being scolded by a teacher. Noelle’s always been like this—equal parts annoyed and annoyingly competent. The perfect older sister…even if she’s only older by four minutes and never lets me forget it.
