“I want to come,” Avery said.
The day before she left for Vermont, Arden came to Aunt Diana’s house.
Avery saw her through the front window before the doorbell rang.
Her twin stood on the porch wearing jeans, a gray hoodie, and no makeup. Without the styling, without the coordinated outfit, without Marissa’s direction, Arden looked younger than seventeen.
Almost like the sister Avery had been searching for under all that performance.
Avery opened the door but did not step aside.
Arden’s eyes moved over her face.
“You cut your hair,” she said.
Avery touched the blunt shoulder-length ends.
“Just four inches.”
“It looks different.”
“I know.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Arden held out a small box.
Inside was Avery’s silver moon necklace.
Avery stared at it.
Arden’s voice was barely audible. “I shouldn’t have worn it in the video.”
“No,” Avery said. “You shouldn’t have.”
Arden flinched.
Avery did not soften the truth to make her sister comfortable.
That was new.
Arden looked toward the street, where a car waited by the curb. Marissa was not inside. Russell had driven her, probably waiting far enough away to give them privacy.
“I thought if you left, everyone would see that you were the talented one,” Arden said.
Avery frowned. “What?”
Arden laughed once, bitter and broken.
“You think I wanted the cameras because I felt special. But I wanted them because when people looked at us together, they couldn’t tell which one was better. If you left for art school, you’d be Avery the artist. And I’d just be Arden, the one who liked attention.”
Avery studied her sister.
“That doesn’t excuse what you did.”
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