Chapter 4

I scanned the lines—way too easy.

Back at the orphanage, I'd done ten times harder monologues. I tossed the script back at her. "Don't need it."

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and imagined standing on the leaky roof of the orphanage, with two dozen kids waiting below for my performance.

When I opened my eyes again, I was Romeo.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" My voice echoed through the auditorium. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!"

The lines flowed out like water.

I dropped to one knee, reaching toward an invisible balcony, my voice rising and falling with emotion.

Halfway through, I stole a glance at Andrea—her mouth was slightly open, eyes wide, completely still.

I ended the final line. The auditorium went silent.

Then applause exploded. Even Jimmy clapped like crazy.

Andrea walked up to me. "That was incredible! Would you consider joining us?"

Her eyes sparkled, like she was genuinely thrilled to have discovered my talent.

It threw me off—Andrea was supposed to be mad.

"No thanks." I jumped off the stage. "Just wanted to show you what real acting looks like."

As I walked away, I heard her say to the others, "My sister's always had talent."

Sister?

I spun around, but Andrea was already back to organizing the next rehearsal like nothing happened.

It started raining after school.

I stood under the roof, staring out at the downpour. I hadn't brought an umbrella, and the driver wouldn't be here for another half hour.

"Wanna walk together?" Andrea appeared beside me, holding a clear umbrella.

Rainwater gushed off the roof in streams, forming a little river at her feet.

"No." I stepped aside.

"There's an extra umbrella in the car," Andrea said gently. "You'll catch a cold like this."

"I said no." My voice was louder than I meant. A few students glanced over.

Andrea sighed, then suddenly shoved the umbrella into my hand. "Then take this one. I'll have the driver come to the front gate to pick you up."

Before I could react, Andrea had already dashed into the rain, her ponytail arcing behind her.

I stood frozen, watching her disappear into the storm.

The handle of the umbrella was still warm from her hand, faintly scented with her perfume.

I gripped the umbrella handle tighter, and something weird swelled in my chest.

Back home, I left the umbrella by the front door.

Andrea had already changed into loungewear and was arranging flowers in the living room. She looked up and smiled. "Did you get wet?"

I didn't answer, just went upstairs.

Passing her room, I noticed the door was ajar. Music was playing—something fast and rhythmic.

Curiosity pulled me closer. Then I open the door.

Her room was even messier than last time.

Books and notebooks were spread all over the bed, sheet music scattered on the floor.

And the most surprising thing was Andrea danced in front of the mirror badly. Her moves were stiff, awkward, like a puppet on tangled strings.

The beat picked up, and she tried a street dance move—nearly tripped over her own feet.

Andrea grabbed the wardrobe to steady herself, frustrated, then turned off the music and collapsed on the floor, gasping.

It was the first time I'd seen her not perfect.

The flawless student council president couldn't even manage a simple dance routine in private.

"Not very polite to spy on someone, is it?" a voice said behind me.

I turned. A girl I didn't know stood there, arms crossed—it was the one I'd seen in the cafeteria. Ophelia.

"I…"

"You're the 'real daughter' who just showed up out of nowhere?" Ophelia looked me over with open hostility. "Don't think being related by blood makes you special. Andrea's been in this family sixteen years. You're not replacing her."

I frowned. "I'm not trying to replace anyone."

"Really?" Ophelia sneered. "Then why'd you crash her rehearsal? Why keep targeting her?"

I wanted to argue, but no words came out.

Ophelia pulled a small box from her bag, slid it under Andrea's door, then lowered her voice. "Stay away from her. Andrea may be soft-hearted, but not all of us are."

With that, Ophelia turned and walked off, her footsteps clicking like warnings.

At dinner, Jerry made an announcement. "Next month's the St. Land talent competition. I want both of you to participate."

My hand slipped, and a piece of fish dropped off my plate.

Andrea dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "I've already signed up for a piano solo."

"What about you, Claire?" Una looked at me hopefully.

"I don't have any 'talents,'" I said, pointing at Andrea with my fork. "Not like some people, who had private tutors since they were three."

The table went dead quietly.

Jerry set down his wine glass. "Andrea practices piano six hours a day. Before last year's competition, her fingers were bleeding and she still didn't stop."

I looked at Andrea. She kept her head down, hair covering her face.

But under the table, I caught a glimpse of a faint scar on her left index finger.

"I'm done." I pushed back my chair. "Gonna go do homework."

There wasn't any. I just lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

[There's a math quiz tomorrow—Chapters 3 and 4. Ms. Lee likes to tweak question 5 from the end-of-chapter exercises. —Andrea]

I stared at the screen until it dimmed on its own.

Outside, the rain had stopped. Moonlight slipped through the clouds and left a soft, pale glow on the floor.