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definitely using my outside voice.
    “Wow.”
    “What?”
    “That’s weird, is all.”
    “What’s weird? He’s my art teacher. I’m taking a paintingseminar and there was an Impressionist show at the de Young.”
    “Did anyone else go with you?”
    “No. So?”
    “So that’s weird.”
    “You’re weird.”
    You opened your bag, dug around for the phone you’d just put away, and went back to staring at the screen. I’d rattled you.
    You could have lied to me. Told me that you’d gone to a museum or a movie or the beach with Schuyler or Liv and I’d have believed you. But you trusted me. It was a test balloon of sorts—to say out loud that you spent the afternoon alone with a teacher who has a reputation.
    And I shot that balloon right out of the sky.
    I’m sorry for that. I really am.
    I tried telling myself maybe it wasn’t so weird. City Day is a place where students are given special attention and unique opportunities to learn and grow, and blah, blah, blah.
    But your neck got red. You took off your sweater. You were hot and rashy, which happens when you’re caught in an uncomfortable situation, and I know because it happens to me too. When I saw the color creeping up to your face I should have backed down. I’m your sister, and I want more than anything to be on your side.
    As I sat and watched you text with angry fingers, all I wanted was to get off the bus and back on your good side.
    So I decided that you, like most girls at City Day, had a harmless crush on Mr. B. I decided I was reading too much into everything, as usual. I should let it go.
    We were on our way to Dad’s. It was a Friday night and we had no plans. I still liked these sorts of nights the best, when it was just you and me at home with some version of our family.
    We hopped off at 24th and Church. I offered to carry one of your bags. You let me—accepting my olive branch.
    We played Bananagrams until midnight. Sonia begged off early because she had a brief she had to work on over the weekend. You and I should have followed her, considering our game the next day was at nine against one of the strongest teams in the league. But prudence, especially while in Dad’s care, is not our strong suit. Between you, Dad, and me we finished a pint and a half of Mitchell’s Grasshopper Pie ice cream, after an extra-large deep-dish calamity from Paxti’s Pizza.
    I went to bed bloated but happy. Dad stood on the threshold to my room and said, “Good night, Monkey Number Two.”
    That’s always been Dad’s nickname for me because you are Monkey Number One.
    “Good night, Pops.”
    “Sleep well.” He kissed the top of my head.
    “I’ll try.”
    I closed the door behind him and turned around to find the Creed brothers sitting on my bed.
    You ate too much, huh? Parker nodded sympathetically.
    You’ve got a game tomorrow. You should be taking care of your body , Duncan said.
    I stood and stared at them. Trying to convey with a lookthat they were on my bed and I needed to get in it, like, immediately.
    Do you want us to go?
    I was so, so tired.
    They stood up and I climbed under my covers, turned out the light, and closed my eyes.
    Nell , Duncan whispered in the dark.
    I put a pillow over my head but it didn’t block the sound of his voice. Her neck was creeping red .

I’M SURE YOU THINK I tried out for the fall play just to get nearer to Sam Fitzpayne.
    Sure, when I walked by the drama room and saw his name on the sign-up sheet it lit a fire under me and I wrote my name up there too, but it wasn’t only Sam. You were changing. Pulling away from me. The survivalist in me must have known that I needed something other than soccer, other than being N. Golden, Monkey Number Two. I needed to do something for me, and yes, you’d worked on the musical your freshman year, but I wasn’t following in your footsteps. I wanted to be onstage, not behind the scenes, and anyway, you know how I love me some Shakespeare.
    I didn’t know that Ms.