Chapter 2

It all startswith a twist of pinkies, a kiss to dirt-chapped knuckles, spit, and a wish thrown at the stars.

"JJ?" my sister calls out in a loud whisper, leaves and sticks crunching and crackling with each step deeper into the woods pressing up against our backyard.

She's trying to be quiet, I think, but she's really bad at it.

I bury my face in my arms, curling myself into an even tighter ball. The tree I sit against digs roughly into my curved spine, but I don't bother moving, even though I know she'll find me soon.

She always does.

She says it's 'cause we're twins. It's our superpower—feeling each other's feelings, sensing where the other is.

But if that's true, then what about me? I can't read her mind at all. I can't do anything special or cool like the heroes in my comic books.

I draw, I guess, but I wouldn't say it's special. Not like how she plays piano. She has a gift. That's what Daddy and Mommy and her new piano teacher Madam Elise say.

I don't have any gifts. Izzy got them all.

Maybe it just hasn't happened yet…

Maybe I'm like Spider-Man. Maybe it'll happen when I'm older.

Izzy just got lucky. She was born that way—a mutant.

Way above my head, big-bulb string lights twinkle from where they hang around our treehouse, just like the stars starting to peek out from the growing darkness creeping across the sky.

Crickets chirp. Windchimes that Mommy hung up around our fort tinkle in the summer breeze blowing through. And somewhere, not too far away, cars whoosh by along wet pavement from the other side of the woods.

The ground is soft and damp under my butt, and the air still smells like rain, though it stopped hours ago. I look up through my lashes at the sky, imagining drawing it, coloring it, what crayons I'd use—timberwolf and outer space for the fluffy gray clouds off to my right, puffing over the mountains like smoke. Burnt orange and dandelion for the swirls of fire left over from the sunken sun. And midnight and silver for the inky blue darkness spotted with stars and a sliver-sized moon sliding into place like the pictures flicking by in my ViewMaster.

Another stick cracks loudly, echoing, and I hear my sister mutter, "Crap."

She's closer now. Any second now, she's gonna spot me.

I hunch my shoulders, sniffling. A glance down shows that the scrapes on my knees from when I fell tripping over a branch stopped bleeding. It's all dry and crusty, just like the dirt stuck to my skin. It's gross, and kind of burns, but I don't want to go inside yet.

Izzy was fightin' with Mommy and Daddy. They broke the news to us tonight that I wouldn't be going into first grade with her and Waylon this year. That I got held back.

Apparently I have to spend this year in some special program called transition, where I'll get more one-on-one help with my reading and social skills. At least, that's how Daddy explained it. I don't really get it. I can read just fine…in my head. It's when teachers make me read out loud that my brain and tongue don't wanna work right, and then I get all sick and achy.

My belly twists now at remembering how bad it got last year, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Please don't throw up, please don't throw up.

"There you are," Izzy says with a huff, before plopping down in front of me, not caring how wet and dirty it is. She never cares about stuff like that. Daddy calls her a tomboy.

She curls her knees up, copycatting my position, and rocks forward, giving me no choice but to lift my head so we're pressed together forehead to forehead, knee to knee.

Brown eyes the same color as mine peer back at me from between gold lashes.

When I asked Mommy what shade our eyes were—she has brown eyes like us too—she said amber. But there's no crayon that color, so I have to use sepia when drawing us.

"So?" I utter quietly. My belly clenches.

Her jaw hardens in that way it does when she's angry or bein' stubborn about something, and she gives a quick little shake of her head, her long, frizzy brown hair getting swept up in the breeze.

That twisting in my belly loosens and drops, my face crumplin'.

I swallow a couple times, practicing what Mommy told me to do when I feel like this—nervous and sick.

My sister didn't get them to change their mind. If anyone could, it would be her. It's why I didn't even bother getting all upset about this. She beat me to it. And why make things worse when I could just let her take over? They'd probably be more likely to listen to her anyway. She's good at gettin' what she wants.

So, when no one was looking, I snuck out here instead, leaving her to it.

"They said it's what's best for you," Izzy murmurs, nose wrinkling in that way it does when she smiles or when she's fighting tears. Right now, she's definitely not smiling.

My eyes burn, and I wonder if it's my twin powers finally kicking in—our s'pposed connection finally working both ways—and I sniffle again, hopeful but also still really, really sad.

"It's stupid. They don't know anything. We're s'pposed to be together. Always. That's what's best."

Blinking rapidly, I nod. It's true. The idea of being separated from her…

I'd take being forced to read out loud to a full classroom any day over that, even if it meant throwing up, and I hate throwing up. But if I knew this could happen—that they could keep me back like this, taking my sister away from me—I would've tried harder to suck it up.

"This isn't the way it's s'pposed to be," she whispers, sniffing just like me now.

We smush our heads together once more, breathing in and out at the same time. I can't hear it, but I imagine her heart's beating just as fast as mine does, angry like waves in my ears.

For the first time since we were born, my sister and I are going to be separated, and not just for a couple hours here and there. According to Mommy, being held back means forever—I'll never be in the same class as my sister again. I'll always be a grade behind.

And that's kind of a big deal. A huge deal. The kind of huge deal that makes it feel like there's a monster inside me, chewing me up and moving my insides all around.

I hate this.

Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds.

That's how long I had to exist on this planet without my sister. And Mommy and Daddy said I screamed for every single moment of it.

Most people assume Isobel's the older twin when they meet us, and that's only after they find out we're twins in the first place, seeing as we don't really look alike, except for our eyes.

I have blond hair like Daddy. She has brown hair like Mommy. And she's taller—not by much, but enough. She's louder too—by a lot. And she's bossy—like really, really bossy.

I don't really mind it most of the time—that she's taller and louder and that she bosses me around, or that people think she's my older sister.

Except for when she's trying to make me do things I don't wanna, like talk to people I don't know, or do things I've never done before, like she's my mom or something. I already have one of those. I don't need another.

And I am older. Even if she forgets too, like everybody else seems to.

But even I forget sometimes.

It's just easier, I guess, to let her be in charge.

It's 'cause she's fearless—that's what Daddy says.

And I'm timid—that's what everyone says.

When I asked Mommy once what that meant, she said it's just another word for shy.

I get that one a lot too.

"You're just more…careful than her. You're a thinker," she'd told me once, tapping me on the head. "Isobel leads with her heart, you lead with your brain. And that's not a bad thing."

Except it feels like a bad thing a lot of the time.

"I'm scared," I tell my sister now, because I tell her everything.

"I know," she says back, because she always does.

"I don't wanna be on my own. It's not fair." I sniff.

It won't just be Izzy I'm losing, but Waylon too. He's basically our brother—same age as us. His mommy and our mommy were best friends growing up, but his mommy died when he was just a baby. We never met her. Waylon never got to either, not really, not that he can remember.

And because his daddy's a really busy guy, according to Mommy—he's a cop—and his uncle who used to help out watching him and stuff drives trucks around for work now, Waylon stays with us a lot. Mommy's his godmother. I don't have one of those—neither does Izzy—but we have our real mommy so I guess we don't need one.

I hope we never need a godmother.

"Maybe…maybe if I do really good this year, they'll let me skip first grade and go to second with you guys next year," I say. "Then I'll be all caught up and we can be together again."

She nods strongly. "Yes! You can do it, JJ. I know you can."

I smile, and it shakes a little. She's bossy, and it's annoying sometimes, but she's nice. Some people aren't nice, like this one boy in our class last year, who used to call me names sometimes when no one was around.

"You're really smart," she tells me. "You're just shy. That's not a crime." She says this very seriously. Daddy always jokes that if being a musician doesn't work out for her, she should be a lawyer.

I wonder what he thinks I should be.

"Nothin's gonna change no matter what," she says. "Come on." She jumps up and reaches down for my hand, dragging me up with her.

The sky is more black than gray now. The orange is gone.

"We're gonna swear on it," she tells me, holding out her pinky.

I stare at it, and lift mine, curling it around hers. She curls her finger around mine, squeezing till I feel my bones creak, and our knuckles turn white.

We raise our hands between us, staring each other in the eye. She's only a couple inches taller than me, so I don't have to tilt my head back too far. A big gust of wind blows through, sweeping her brown hair and my blond hair across our faces.

"Nothing will ever come between us," she says in that super serious lawyer voice of hers that makes her sound so much older than six. "It's me and you against the world, JJ."

"What about Waylon?" I say doubtfully.

She scrunches her nose, shaking her head. "That's different. He's my best friend, but you're my twin. We're like the same person."

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I nod, dropping my gaze.

"He's my best friend."

Not ours. Hers.

"I promise, JJ," she vows fiercely. "Everything else could change, but we won't."

I frown. Mommy said basically the same thing the other night when she tucked me into bed. I forgot about that till now, and I wonder if she told Izzy the same thing.

"Things are going to change as you two get older," she'd said, "and that's okay. You're growing up, my sweet boy. She'll always be your other half, but it's okay to be your own person too, and make your own friends and have your own things."

Maybe she already knew what was coming, and was getting us ready for it.

Maybe that's why Izzy decided to claim Waylon as hers.

Maybe that means there's someone out there for me, and me alone.

"You have to promise too," Izzy says when I say nothing back. Her eyes dart between mine, glowing gold from the lights shining down on us. "You're gonna make friends and have your own life, just like me, and that's okay."

Yep, Mommy definitely talked to her too.

I nod, though I don't know about the friends thing. Izzy's so much better at that. Even though she had me and Waylon with her in kindergarten, she still talked to other kids and hung out with them during recess, especially on days Waylon wasn't there.

I never wanted to play all the games the other kids were playing, like she did. Kickball, tag, Capture the Flag, Red Light Green Light, Mother May I…

And don't even get me started on Red Rover. I don't know why anyone ever wanted to play that. I tried once, 'cause Izzy made me, and kids started getting mad because I either didn't try enough to get through when Izzy called me over—she was the only one who would pick me—or the second someone came running my way, I would just let go of whoever's hand I was holding, letting the person run through.

Hating that I was letting people down, I tried to suck it up. Other kids were doing it. Laughing about it even as they shook their arms or held their stomachs. It couldn't be that bad. But of course, the second I decided to play the right way, it had to be one of the biggest kids in our class who decided to run through my arm—Mikey.

He never seemed to like me. And he definitely ran as hard as he could, using all his strength. It hurt so bad, I thought I broke my arm. I started crying, and the other kids laughed. Izzy told them to shut up, but it made no difference.

Ears ringing, cheeks hot, I turned away and never looked back, their laughter echoing for what felt like days, just like the bruises along my arm.

Since then, she never tried getting me to join in again. And I was glad. I liked being alone. I liked coloring, and drawing, and reading my comics. Izzy sat with me sometimes, but I could always tell she was just doing it to be nice.

She hates coloring.

She also hates being alone.

Social butterfly.

That's what grown-ups call her.

I'm the one with social issues.

So, even if there is someone out there for me and just me… how do I find them? How do I make them my friend? What happens when I don't want to play the games other kids play?

"I promise," I say out loud, my voice quiet. I lift my gaze to my sister's, nodding, standing a little taller.

Either way, I'll always have her.

That I can count on.

She's my best friend.

She smiles, and she gets that look in her eye that tells me she's up to no good. "We have to spit on it."

I bunch up my face, and she giggles loudly.

"Kiss your knuckles like this—I saw it in a movie. They said it doesn't count if you don't do this."

I don't know if I believe that, but I also know she won't listen to me if I try to tell her she's wrong.

I follow her lead lowering my mouth to where my thumb curls into my fingers.

She kisses the side of her hand first. Then I do the same.

Then she turns her head to the right, spitting at the air.

I twist to the left and do the same.

At least we're outside…

She laughs again, louder and more wild this time. "Now it's official!"

She releases my hand and spins away from me, twirling barefoot in the wet grass and dirt. Long, wavy brown hair whirling around her head.

Arms hanging at my sides, I tip my head back to stare up at the sparkling night sky.

Distantly, from the house, Daddy calls for us. It's completely dark out now, lit up only by the stars, the moonlight, and the lights shimmering gold around our treehouse.

Izzy yells, "Comin'!" and starts to make her way back through the trees bordering our backyard.

Just before I drop my head and turn to follow, a star shoots across the sky.

My chest rises with my deep inhale, and I close my eyes super tight, just like I do when blowing out candles on my birthday cake. Izzy always blows hers out before mine. But I take my time, making sure I get my wish just right.

I wish…

"JJ, come on!" Izzy huffs impatiently.

Ignoring her, I throw my request out at the star racing across the sky…

Hoping.

Praying.

Wishing…

I wish, I wish, I wish?—