“When’s my birthday?”
“August first,” she says. She doesn’t even wait for me to tell her that she’s right. She knows she is. “How many serious boyfriends have I had?”
“Define serious.” I don’t know this one. I truly do not. I wasn’t even aware she started dating until I heard Josh’s name thrown around while we were shopping for Charity Gala dresses.
“I brought them home to meet Mom and Dad.”
“One,” I tell her with a less-than-confident nod.
“I had two. Don’t you remember Patrick?”
I frown and scratch my arm. “Patrick who?”
“Redhead, skinny. Kind of immature. He used to pinch my butt, so I broke up with him. I was fourteen.” She takes a step closer to the ledge since I’m clearly the worst sister ever.
I sigh heavily, realizing it’s my turn. “Uhh…” I try to think of a good question, but they all contain Lo somehow. Finally I land on something semi-good. “What part did I play in theWizard of Ozproduction?” I was only seven, and upon Lo’s request, his father pulled strings and took his son out of the performance so he didn’t have to play the Tin Man. Lo was so happy that he never had to rehearse with the class. He slept in the back of the room, his mouth hanging open, taking an extra nap time while we tried to memorize condensed, age-appropriate lines.
I miss him.
“You were a tree,” Daisy says with a nod. “Rose said you threw an apple at Dorothy and gave her a black eye.”
I point at her. “That was an accident. Don’t let Rose spread lies…” That story is in her arsenal to use against me, I swear.
Daisy tries to smile, but it’s a weak one. I can tell my relationship with Rose is something that upsets her, so I let my words taper off. She asks, “What do I want to be when I grow up?”
I should know this. Shouldn’t I? But I have absolutely no clue. “An astronaut,” I throw out.
“Nice try.” She takes a step forward. “I’m not sure what I want to be.”
I gawk. “That was a trick question. No fair.”
She shrugs. “Wish you thought of it first?”
I look at my distance from the wall and then hers. Two more steps and she’s on the ledge. “No thank you.” I’m ecstatic she’s answering my questions correctly, but I feel a little guilty I’m sucking at hers. I think she knew I’d fail at this game.
Maybe she wants to lose, and this way, I can’t tell her to jump down. Not if it’s all part of the game. Jesus, I hope that’snot the case. But my stomach sinks at the thought. It seems more and more likely that it is.
“What’s my middle name?” I try an easy one.
“Martha,” she says with a laugh. “Lily Martha Calloway. Doesn’t it suck to be named after our grandmother?”
“Look who’s talking, Petunia.” She was saddled with asecondflower name.
“You know what boys always ask me?”
“What?”
“Have you been deflowered?”
I’ve heard that one before.
Her eyes meet mine briefly. “Have I?”
The cold nips my neck. “Is that my next question?”
She nods.
“You’re a virgin,” I say, hesitant. Right? The last we talked about this, we played a game on our family’s yacht, and both Daisy and Rose said their V-cards were still intact.
