“Oh. Um. Not really.”
“Molly, you totally should!” Cassie says. “You know, you guys should hang out and work on a project together or something.”
Oh my God.
I feel sick. I actually feel sick. My sister is the least subtle person on the planet. This is so much worse than the barf mitzvah story. I don’t care about the barf mitzvah story. But this.
He’s going to think I want to hook up with him. That I’m in love with him. That I’m obsessed with him.
And I’m sorry, but there’s a reason I’m so careful. Boys like Will don’t like girls like me. And if they find out we like them, they are always cruel. Always.
I need to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“So, you have to hear the new Florence and the Machine album,” Mina says. “I have it upstairs on my laptop. It’s so great.”
Max looks up, suddenly, turning to Will. “Dude, we gotta go. Come on.”
“Wait, what? I want to hear Florence.”
“I’m sure it’s on YouTube,” Max says. “And I’m your ride, so . . .”
“You’re a dickhole, McCone.”
Max shakes his keys—and then, to my utter surprise, he turns to me with one of those face-lighting smiles. “Need a ride to the Metro, Molly?”
So maybe I was wrong about the fedora and the no-fattiez.
“Um. Yeah. Thank you. That would be really great.” I look at Cassie. “Cass, you ready?”
There’s this pause.
“Um. I’m gonna stay and hear that album. Is that okay?”
I feel a tiny twinge, low in my chest. “Yeah! Yeah, totally.” I pause. “So. Do you want me to stay, or . . . ?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Cassie says quickly. “You should go.”
Mina nods. “I can drop Cassie off after.”
Oh.
I think this is how it happens.
“Okay, yeah!” I say again, trying to sound casual.
Suddenly, there’s this pressure building behind my eyes. But it’s probably just excitement or adrenaline, because I’m not a shitty person. If my sister wants to make out with this girl, I would like this makeout to proceed as planned. And if it means I have to ride to the Metro with two cute boys, so be it.
I should be excited about this, right? Not one. TWO. Two cute hipster boys.
Max leads the way upstairs, and already I know what this ride will be like. The boys will be jokey and knowing and familiar. And I will lose myself to shyness. I will be the ice cube.
Will isn’t drunk, exactly, but he’s sort of loose and happy. He curses Max out for making him leave, but you can tell he’s not actually mad at all. Whereas Max just looks amused all the way to his car.
“So, where do you have to be so fucking urgently?” Will asks, sliding into the passenger seat. I tuck into the backseat, shutting the door quietly behind me. A part of me wonders if they remember I’m here.
“Seat belt,” Max says. Will clicks his seat belt on. “If you’re not buckled, we’re not moving,” Max explains, twisting around to check my status.
I’m buckled. I show him. Kind of funny and endearing, actually. Max is the last person I’d expect to care about seat belts. I’m not sure I understand him. I definitely don’t understand these two as a unit. At first, I thought Will was essentially the alpha guy, since he talks more, but now I don’t know. Because Max has this intensity. It makes me kind of nervous.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Will says, poking Max’s arm.
“I don’t have to be anywhere. I’m just following orders.” He passes Will his phone.
“Oh shit,” Will says.
Max laughs. And I feel like I’m missing something.
“Are they . . . hooking up?” I ask slowly.
“Well. Mina asked us to clear out, so . . . ,” Max says. He starts the car and glances at me in the mirror. “Red Line okay?”
“That’s great. Thanks.” My head is kind of spinning.
So Mina planned this. I guess she texted Max when we were all in the room together. And now the boys and I have been exiled.
She and Cassie are probably making out right now. Literally right now.
And because I’m not a shitty person, I’m 100 percent thrilled.
AND NOW CASSIE’S BEING MYSTERIOUS, and it’s really fucking weird.
Normally, when she hooks up with someone, she’s bursting with the details. She’s a kiss-and-teller. Maybe that’s awful, but it’s just a part of the hookup process for her. She told me once that a kiss isn’t a kiss until she tells me about it. Me, specifically.
I loved hearing that.
And I guess I’m the same way with my crushes. Talking about them with Cassie makes them real.
But there’s something happening, and I swear I’m not imagining it. Ever since Wednesday she’s been so twinkly—smiling out of nowhere, and listening to that Florence album constantly. But she hasn’t mentioned Mina. At all. And it feels wrong asking for details. I’ve never had to ask before.
Then I wake up on Friday to Cassie’s face staring down at me.
“Oh my God,” I say, sitting up abruptly.
“Wake up. Let’s make breakfast.”
I rub my eyelids and sweep my bangs off my face. “Give me one second.”
She counts to one. If she wasn’t my twin, I’d swear she was nine years old.
I have literally never seen her so bright-eyed. Her hair’s pulled up high on her head, and she’s wearing pink pajama pants, and I’d expect this level of bubbliness from Abby. From Cassie, it’s just weird.
I follow her to the kitchen, trying to be quiet on the stairs. Our house is this one-hundred-and-two-year-old bungalow, and when you’re trying not to wake your moms, it’s essentially a giant booby trap. Creaky doors, creaky stairs, creaky everything—and a sleep-averse little brother with supernaturally good hearing.
Cassie’s an awful cook, so I take the lead. I have to admit: I like being needed. She hooks her phone up to our little speaker, and there’s that Florence + the Machine album again.
But she won’t say Mina’s name.
She just keeps opening and shutting cabinets, moving between the kitchen and dining room, setting out plates and folding napkins, all in this happy kind of daze. And yes, it’s butt-early, and maybe she’s just zoned out, but still. She should not leave me hanging. This is a flagrant violation of every code of twinship.
I’m just about to swallow my pride and become, as Abby calls it, “Mademoiselle Nosy AF”—except then Xavier ruins everything by waking up in a burst of full-volume babble. Our moms’ room is above the dining room, so we can hear thudding footsteps and murmuring and the bathroom door shutting. Nadine always starts the day by nursing Xav, so Patty’s the first to come down.
And it’s funny: Patty’s as wild-eyed as Cassie. For a moment, I wonder if Cassie talked to her first. But she wouldn’t. She would never. I’m the person Cassie talks to about girls. I mean, I’m the one Cassie talks to about everything.
I think.
“That smells amazing,” Patty says, smoothing my hair.
Nadine walks in with Xavier a moment later. “Holy mother of deliciousness. What is this?”
“Proof that we have the best kids in the universe.”
Nadine hands Xavier off to Patty, beaming. “So you guys saw the news!”
Cassie and I look at each other. “No . . . ,” I say finally.
“What?” Nadine yelps. “You people are supposed to be teenagers. Go look at the internet right now.”
She’s smiling so widely, I can’t help but smile back. Something’s happening. Cassie’s already scrolling through her phone, and she gasps.
My phone’s charging in the wall outlet. I tug the cord out and unlock my screen. “Where should I look?”
“Anywhere.” Patty smiles.
“Go to Facebook!” Cassie says.
I tap into my Facebook app, and my heart skips. Scrolling through, it’s all rainbows. Literally every single person on my feed is talking about the same thing.