Wouldn’t the illness have progressed by now into something more pronounced? More dangerous? Especially with zero treatment?
But if it’s not a psychotic disorder… then what is it?
Between my obsessive research and worrying—and the growing fear I might somehow be genetically wired for the same kind of psychotic break as my mother—I’m not exactly in a party mood when LHU Homecoming rolls around. I don’t even want to get out of bed, let alone plaster on a fake smileand sit in a packed stadium for hours. But skipping the game isn’t an option. I’ve never missed any of Hayes’s home games, and Homecoming is the biggest one of the year.
Growing up so close to LHU, I’ve watched our town turn Homecoming into a full-on production for years. Even though it’s a small college, the hype is huge. There’s tailgating and a live DJ blasting pop remixes in front of the stadium. Food trucks. Parties up and down frat row. And, of course, the parade down Main Street, complete with cheerleaders, marching bands, and the football team strutting around like gods heading off to war. The whole day feels like one giant town-wide celebration.
A few hours before kickoff, Amber barges into my room without so much as a knock. She plops down in front of my mirrored closet doors, a brand-new red and gold bodycon dress riding up her thighs, and unzips her makeup bag. A glitter explosion of foundation sticks, compacts, and lip glosses spills onto the carpet.
“Seriously?” I glare from my bed. “You have your own mirror. Use it.”
“Yeah, but the lighting’s better in here. You’ve got the west-facing windows.”
She says it like it’s some kind of universal truth, but I know better. Amber couldn’t care less about natural light. She has that ridiculous three-way lighted vanity mirror Mom caved and bought her last Christmas. What Amber wants is an audience.
She props her cell phone against the wall and cues up a hair tutorial from Nia Williams—her favorite beauty blogger—and then proceeds to curl her hair while I watch on in mild horror.
The Instagram influencer is even more insufferable than my sister—a too-perfect Florida girl with bleached teeth, zero self-awareness, and an unhealthy obsession with her ever-growing follower count. Amber, however, follows every step of the tutorial like she’s prepping for brain surgery. Brows furrowed, lips pouting in focus. It’s honestly kind of impressive how committed she is.
As she curls and sprays, she prattles on nonstop about the latest high school gossip. Who’s hooking up with who, who got dumped, which girls are fighting over which guys. I pretend to care, inserting little head nods where appropriate, but I can’t stop thinking about Mom.
“Ally!” Amber snaps. “Are you even listening?”
I yawn, unbothered, and stretch my legs across the futon.
“Sorry, did you ask me something?”
She groans, loud and dramatic.
“I asked who Hayes is taking to the Alpha Delts party tomorrow.”
“How should I know? Ask him yourself.”
“I can’t do that.” She scowls, scandalized. “I’d look totally clingy. We’re not, like, officially back together—yet,” she says, slicking on her shiniest pink lip gloss while checking her reflection. “But if he shows up with someone else, Iswear I’ll lose it.”
I narrow my eyes, watching her spritz her hair until she gleams like a pageant queen. Then she fastens an oversized gold bow to the top of her head to match her dress.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “You’re the one who dumped him. I thought being ‘free’ senior year was the whole point.”
“I blame temporary insanity.” She sighs, all tragic. “He’s Hayden Vassilios, Ally. What girl wouldn’t want him back?”
She’s not wrong.
But her on-again, off-again saga with my best friend isn’t something I’m eager to unpack.
“Can we please not talk about Hayes?”
“But now that he’s single, everyone’s circling. The cheer team. The dance girls. Practically all of sorority row. I was an idiot to let him go.” Her voice trembles, teetering toward panic. “You’d tell me, right? If Hayes was seeing someone? You’re the only one I can trust.”
She looks up, mascara wand shaking in her hand, all wide-eyed and raw. A sudden rush of protectiveness hits me, sharp and unwanted. Even if she’s a complete asshole most of the time, I’m still her big sister. It’s my job to protect her… isn’t it? Especially when she’s like this. Insecure. Vulnerable. Almost… sweet.
For a moment, she reminds me of the old Amber.
When we were younger, before junior high and everything changed, my sister and I used to be close. We’d ride our bikes down by the boardwalk, doing little jumps and wheelies. Go kneeboarding together,catching waves in the ocean. Dress up as matching Disney Princesses and put on talent shows for Mom in the living room. I’d sing. Amber would dance. She even took karate with me and Hayes. She was pretty good at it, too, but then some cute boy at competition told her girls shouldn’t fight. She quit the very next day and signed up for cheer camp instead.
I suppose it would be nice to get along again, like we used to. If things go as planned, I’ll be in New York next year and then I’ll hardly ever see her. Maybe we shouldn’t waste whatever time we still have left together.
And I guess it’s not her fault that everyone adores her.
