“Never,” Dad replied. “I wouldn’t trade you, either of you, for the other.”

“Maddy, please.” I heard the plea in Mom’s voice, knew that if I looked up, I’d see tears to match. “I’ve lost your sister. I can’t lose you, too.”

I don’t know what possessed me to say it. Perhaps I was looking for a way to tell them the truth without having to admit it, without the risk of them actually understanding what I was saying. Without giving a second thought to my words, I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s and said, “I’m already gone. I died that night on the side of that road with my sister.”

24

I walked the two miles to the cemetery. To my sister’s grave. To my grave. It was cold and starting to rain. I’d left my coat at home on the kitchen chair, but none of that mattered. I didn’t feel it—not the sting of the rain as it turned to ice or my hands shaking as they hung limply by my side. I kept walking, oblivious to everything.

I knew where the marker was. It was buried five rows deep amid a couple hundred other stones. They laid it yesterday. My parents asked if I wanted to go with them to see it last night, but I didn’t. There was something about seeing my name carved into granite that I didn’t think I was quite ready to handle.

But I hadn’t come here today for visual proof of what I had done, of the finality of the lie I had spun. I’d come to talk to the sister whose life I was trying desperately to figure out.

“Hey.” I ran my hand across the smooth stone, taking with it a puddle of water. I studied it for a second, watched the drops roll off my fingers and onto the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was cold and wet, if she had been cold and wet the night the paramedics pulled her from the heated car and into the dark night.

I looked at the ground, my eyes following the line of the grass. They’d put it back in place, like a carpet they’d unrolled, but it was dying, brown and brittle. The lines where they’d peeled back the original sod gaped, as if it was retreating into itself, as if the grass had tried and failed miserably at reseeding itself.

Kind of like me.

“It’s raining again,” I said as I sank to the ground. The wet grass soaked the legs of my jeans. I watched, mesmerized as the light blue faded to dark, the edges inching out until I could feel the cold settling into my bones. Only then, when a violent chill had me moving to my heels, did I speak again. “It seems like it’s always raining when I see you. Always cold.”

I hadn’t been here since the day of her burial. I had refused each morning when Mom asked me if I wanted to go. She thought it might make things easier, that perhaps it would bring me some closure. Closure wasn’t what I needed. Advice was.

“I went to school today. Alex is great. He’s helping me figure my way around the stares,” I said, leaving out the part about him trying to kiss me the night before. Dead or not, I wasn’t quite sure how to bring up that topic with my sister.

“I still don’t get why you hang out with Jenna, though. She’s selfish and mean, and I don’t think she even likes you. I’m quite sure she’s actually working behind your back to screw you over,” I said as if Maddy was sitting right there next to me, as if we were having a conversation about something as mundane as what flavor cake we were going to have on our eighteenth birthday. “Alex told me that her parents are going to lose the house and her brother had to drop out of school to get a job. That kind of sucks for him.”

I swallowed the tinge of pity I felt for Jenna. I didn’t want to understand her behavior. I had no intention of forgiving her for years’ worth of snide remarks and intentional cruelty. Family problems aside, she was still mean and selfish.

“I think you got an A on your Lit test,” I said, laughing. “No worries, that won’t happen again. I’ll be sure to make enough mistakes to get you a solid C next time around.”

“Next time,” I muttered to myself. Those two words sounded foreign and remote. I’d been so focused on getting through one day, one hour, one minute as Maddy that I hadn’t thought about the simple fact that I’d have to get up and do it over again at school, in public, tomorrow.

I paused, shaking my head in disgust as I realized what I was doing. I could almost hear her scolding me, going on about how if I wanted to, I could be as pretty and popular as her. I’d disagree with her, remind her that she was the beautiful one, always had been.

I thought about the first time we had that recurring argument. It was in freshman year and it lasted three days—until Mom finally stepped in and told us either to knock it off or risk losing our phones for a week. Dad pulled me aside that Saturday after dinner. He sat me down in his study and took out his wallet; he showed me the pictures he’d accumulated of us over the years. They were cheesy-looking school pictures with fake fall foliage or blue backgrounds. He had one for each year we’d been in school.

I’d flipped through those pictures, groaning at the one where a gaping hole replaced my two front teeth, then tossed them back at him, completely confused as to what ten years of school photos had to do with anything.

He put his wallet on the desk next to his keys and told me to think about what Maddy had said and the words she had used. I thought about it for a half second, then left the room vowing to hate her forever.

“I’m an idiot. We’re identical twins.” I whispered those words to her now, finally getting what both Maddy and Dad had been trying to say.

“I miss you. I know we weren’t getting along lately, but I figured eventually we’d work it out. I never imagined we wouldn’t get the chance.”

I picked up a strand of dead grass and started peeling the fine threads apart. When one was shredded, I tossed it to the ground and started on another. “Mom’s losing it, and Dad thinks I need to talk to a shrink. Alex agrees.”

There was her sweet voice again, as clear as day, asking me what I’d expected to happen. The few times I’d come to her with a problem, she’d done that—rolled her eyes and told me to open my eyes and watch, stop thinking so much and watch how other people did it, then figure it out.

“Mom had my drawings. She was trying to frame one. It was a crappy one I had left over from my application to art school.”

I thought about my mother’s tears, the look of pure anguish that had clouded her eyes. I’d done that. In every way possible, I’d done that to her.

“Dad’s working a lot,” I continued. “Both he and Mom think the three of us need to talk”—I paused and waved my hand around the damp ground I was sitting on, my eyes landing on my own name etched in granite—“about this.”

Her words echoed through my mind with bittersweet clarity. And let me guess, Ella. You don’t want to talk about it. You want to curl up with your sketch pad and forget it happened.

“You’re right.” Talking about it wouldn’t make it go away, wouldn’t bring Maddy back. It would only make the pain clearer.

I reached out, my hand meeting the cold, hard side of the gravestone. “I don’t want to remember any of it,” I said, as tears pooled in my eyes. “I want to change it. I want you back.”

“Have you talked to anybody about it? Since the day you woke up in that hospital bed, have you spoken of it?”

My whole world stopped at the sound of his voice. Everything froze as I fought to speak the lie I’d entrenched myself in. “Josh, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” he said as he held his hand up for me to stop. “Don’t say that I’m wrong or that I don’t know who I’m looking at.”

I shook my head, not knowing what to say. “I can’t do this now. Not with you.”

“Not with anybody if you have your way.” Josh backed up and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. His gaze was fixed on mine, like he was giving me one last chance to say he was wrong. He mumbled something under his breath when I stayed quiet, then dropped the piece of paper and walked away.