Chapter 2

"Sophie."

Ethan said her name like it hurt him. Behind them, faint through the walls, the party played on, a burst of laughter, a song too loud, none of it hers anymore.

"It didn't mean anything. I swear to you, it didn't mean anything."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know, but…"

"How long?" Sophie said again, quieter this time, which somehow made it worse. "Not whether it meant anything. How long has this been happening?"

"It wasn't…" Ethan dragged a hand through his hair, his voice losing its practiced calm. "It was just tonight. One time. I don't even know how it happened."

"He's telling the truth," Clara said, pulling back from their mother enough to look at Sophie. Her mascara had run in two thin lines down her cheeks. "It was one time. I made a mistake, I don't—I don't know what came over me—"

"Did you know?" Sophie cut in. "Did you know how I felt about him?"

Clara's mouth opened. Closed. She looked at their mother instead of answering.

"That doesn't matter right now," their mother said, stepping slightly in front of Clara. "What matters is that your sister is shaking, Sophie. Look at her."

"I am looking at her. I'm looking at both of them."

"This isn't the time," her father said, in the voice he used when he wanted a conversation to be over, his eyes flicking once toward the hallway entrance, like he was still bracing for someone from the party to round the corner and see this.

"When is the time, Dad?" Sophie turned on him. "It wasn't the time when I was twelve and you pulled me out of my dance recital because Clara had a fever. I stood backstage in my costume for forty minutes, watching the other girls go on without me, waiting for you to come back. You never did. Nobody ever came back for me. And it's not the time now, on my birthday, when my boyfriend was kissing my sister down this hallway."

"That's not fair." Her mother's voice cracked, just slightly. "Clara didn't choose to get sick."

"I'm not asking her to apologize for being sick." Sophie's hands were shaking; she pressed them flat against her sides. "I'm asking someone — anyone — to admit that what just happened to me matters too."

Her father's jaw tightened. "It does matter. But so does not turning your sister's health into something worse tonight."

"I have spent my whole life being the one who understands." Sophie's voice had gone flat and steady. "You always ask me to understand because nobody ever expects anything from me except forgiveness."

Nobody answered that.

Her father opened his mouth, then closed it again. Her mother's hand tightened on Clara's shoulder, but she didn't speak either.

"Sophie," Clara's voice, small now. "Please. Don't leave like this."

Sophie looked at her sister.

For one second, she saw Clara before tonight. Before Ethan. Before the tears.

This was still her sister.

"I don't hate you," Sophie said and meant it. "But I can't stay here and pretend this is fine."

Ethan stepped closer, reaching for her arm. "Sophie, wait…can we just talk…"

She pulled away before his hand landed. "Don't touch me."

He stopped where he stood, arm still half-raised, and didn't try again.

"I need to go," Sophie said.

"Sophie, please, it's your party," her mother tried, her voice thinner now. "People are going to ask where you went."

"Tell them I wasn't feeling well." Sophie's laugh came out short and humorless. "It won't even be a lie."

She turned and walked back down the hallway, toward the noise of a party that had no idea it had already ended for her. Priya caught her eye from across the living room, brow furrowing. You okay? — but Sophie just shook her head once and kept moving. She grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door without stopping, without looking at the banner with her name on it, without looking at the cake no one had cut.

"Sophie!" Clara's voice cracked through the hallway behind her, closer now, like she'd followed.

Sophie almost turned.

Something in Clara's voice stopped her.

"Sophie, wait…"

But Sophie kept walking.

"Sophie, please…don't…"

The rest of it got lost behind her as the front door swung shut. Cold air hit her face, and for a moment she just stood on the porch, breathing, letting the party's noise fade to nothing behind the door.

She told herself Clara was only begging her not to leave.

She didn't look back.

Three weeks later, Clara was gone.