every second week together.”

Jace slides the envelope toward me. “I want to convince myself.” I stare at the envelope. Jace says,

“I did a discrete DNA test of me and Dad.”

My breath whistles in sharply. I shiver. “But you haven’t opened it. You don’t know for sure

we’re”—my stomach flips—“brothers.”

Jace swipes away the tears in his eyes.

I lean against his desk, the corner of the envelope nudging my forearm.

“Why . . . how . . . what . . .”

He knows what I’m trying to ask. “Do you remember that night I was playing the piano and you

burst in here, full of energy, and danced like you didn’t have a care in the world?”

When he came over and began tickling me on the couch. I breathe in sharply; it’s not a moment I

can easily forget.

“I remember,” I say. “Annie came in and told you your mum was crying.”

“I went downstairs,” Jace says, staring at the envelope. “Mum and Dad were having a fight.”

“You said you didn’t know why she was upset.”

“I lied.” He leaps up from his seat and paces the length of his bed. “They were arguing about

getting married. Mum wanted to. Dad didn’t. Mum tried to convince him. Said they were together after

Dad broke up with your mum, before he learned about the pregnancy.”

Jace slumps on his bed, clasps his hands together, and jiggles his leg. “Mum said ‘I knew then you

were the one. Thought you felt it too. Thought you would marry me.’ And Dad said, ‘For thinking I was

the one, you sure moved on quickly!”’

I fold my arms against a shiver.

Jace continues, “I knew what Dad was digging at, that Mum quickly got pregnant with me. Dad

pushed her again. ‘What was his name, Roger? George?’ And Mum said nothing. Nothing.” Jace shakes

his head. “I didn’t know what to do but it made me miserable. You told me to do something about it so I

had his toothbrush tested.”

“The day you gave me that peach stone with the white wave.” I recall him throwing the stone to me

in the hall, the toothbrush in his other hand.

I close my eyes.

The air stirs, and Jace’s shadow falls over me.

“Why didn’t you open it?” I ask. I count his breaths. One, two, three. “Don’t you want to know if

he’s your real dad too?”

One, two—“Not as much as I want to know he’s not.”

I open my eyes. Jace is staring at our feet, but he’s standing close like he’s torn between two

emotions.

Like he’s always been, hasn’t he?

It’s complicated.

Brothers.

I feel sick. “Open it.”

Jace picks up the envelope. “I can’t.”

“I’ll do it, then.” His expression crumbles and I think he might cry, but he schools his emotion and

passes me the envelope.

I thumb the edges. A small flap at one corner scrapes my skin—this is how far Jace has come to

opening it. How many times has he stared at it and wondered? How many times has he tried to rip it

open but shoved it back into the dark drawer?

How many times has his stomach flipped like mine is now?

What if it isn’t a match? We could continue exploring our feelings for each other and be everything

we want.

I could take him in my arms and kiss him so damn hard. I could push him onto his bed and love

him all over again.

What if it is a match?

I stop thumbing the envelope.

Shake my head.

I can’t either.

It’s too risky.

I’d rather be in the purgatory of love than the hell of loss.

I drop it back in the drawer Jace pulled it from and slam it shut.

“Are you mad?” Jace asks after a long time. “For our moment? I know I shouldn’t have, but . . . it’s

true. The song. I don’t know what it makes me, but it’s true. I’m disgusted with myself. I knew better. I

shouldn’t have. God, I’m so sorry.”

Don’t be. It was special. “For all we know, we’re not related.”

And if you are related? Do you really care? My stomach twists at the voice.

It’d be icky. It’d be proper incestuous. No more reassuring myself that my feelings are okay

because we’re not real siblings.

I bow my head.

Do you really care?

onyx

I don’t see Jace the next time I’m at Dad’s. He took an earlier flight to his new life, so it’s just me

and Annie and Jace’s ghost at the dinner table with Dad and Lila.

I want onyx. Not to release the sorrow or grief.

But to become invisible.

To be a ghost alongside his.

part three: metamorphic

metamorphic: altered form.

amphibolite

Harder than limestone, heavier than granite. I feel like amphibolite.

The school year starts slowly, every day dragging longer than the last. Only the teachers are happy

—my work is getting more elaborate and difficult. After my geology teacher submitted my essay to a

lecturer he knows at Vic, Professor Donaldson wrote me a personal message informing me that she

wants me to study in her department and, if I need it, she’ll write me a letter of recommendation to the

dean of admissions. Not that she thinks I’ll need the help.

I won’t. Not only is schoolwork the only distraction I have and what I pour everything into—I

won’t need the help because I don’t want to stay in Wellington.

I shuffle alongside Ernie and Bert and hide in the protection of their laughs and jokes.

“Dude,” Ernie says, punching my arm. We’re at our spot in the courtyard, the brick wall. “Can you

drive us to Annie’s after class?”

I raise a brow. I know what he wants but I can’t find the energy to care. “Her flatmates aren’t

interested.” At least, I don’t think they’re interested. I haven’t exactly been paying attention.

He and Bert exchange confused looks and shake their heads at each other. Ernie mouths, “What’s

up with him?”

“He seriously needs to get laid,” Bert says, then clicks his fingers. “Got it. My cousin totally digs

dudes too. He’ll be down for my birthday in a couple weeks.”

Ernie rubs his hands together. “Sold. Then maybe we’ll have the real Cooper back. Yeah,” he

laughs. “Your cousin can pump some life into him.”

I’m drawn into the moment long enough to say, “Who says I wouldn’t be the one doing the

pumping?”

“That’s our boy, though slightly more crass. I like it.”

I stare at the bench in the middle of the courtyard.

The bell rings, signaling our trek to class. The air feels different, thicker and stodgier.

After school, I find a large dark stone near the hatchback Jace left behind for me. When I pick it up,

I don’t feel the weight of a thousand memories. I feel hollowness. Sympathetic hollowness, perhaps?

Bert and Ernie catch up. Arms sling around my waist and neck as they plead.

“We’ll be on our best behavior.” Ernie flutters his lashes. I’m about to say no, not today, when my

pocket vibrates to life.

A gentle breeze carries the sharp taste of exhaust fumes mixed with Indian spices. Bert and Ernie’s

sudden laughter rings in my ears.

The phone vibrates again, sending shivers racing up my arm as I take the call. “Jace!” A smile pulls

my lips wide, and I laugh, twisting away from Ernie and Bert. The sun shines on my face and I breathe

in the brightness. “How are you?”

His voice is croaky and he coughs. “Sorry. Autumn cold.”

“That sucks. You’re calling early this week.”

“Yeah, I’m going hiking this weekend so I wanted to say hey now.”

“Where are you going?” And with who?

“A couple of mates and I are doing the difficult trail at Kepler Track.”

“Mates?”

Jace knows me too well. “Cooper,” he says quietly. It’s a warning. It’s a plea. Please don’t go there.

Let’s not talk about the bloody elephant in the room. Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist. Let’s pretend All I

Want Is You never happened.