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Blinking rapidly, I nod. It’s true. The idea of being separated from her…
I’d take being forced to read out loud to a full classroom any day over that, even if it meant throwing up, and I hate throwing up. But if I knew this could happen—that they could keep me back like this, taking my sister away from me—I would’ve tried harder to suck it up.
“This isn’t the way it’s s’pposed to be,” she whispers, sniffing just like me now.
We smush our heads together once more, breathing in and out at the same time. I can’t hear it, but I imagine her heart’s beating just as fast as mine does, angry like waves in my ears.
For the first time since we were born, my sister and I are going to be separated, and not just for a couple hours here and there. According to Mommy, being held back means forever—I’ll never be in the same class as my sister again. I’ll always be a grade behind.
And that’s kind of a big deal. A huge deal. The kind of huge deal that makes it feel like there’s a monster inside me, chewing me up and moving my insides all around.
I hate this.
Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds.
That’s how long I had to exist on this planet without my sister. And Mommy and Daddy said I screamed for every single moment of it.
Most people assume Isobel’s the older twin when they meet us, and that’s only after they find out we’re twins in the first place, seeing as we don’t really look alike, except for our eyes.
I have blond hair like Daddy. She has brown hair like Mommy. And she’s taller—not by much, but enough. She’s louder too—by a lot. And she’s bossy—like really, really bossy.
I don’t really mind it most of the time—that she’s taller and louder and that she bosses me around, or that people think she’s my older sister.
Except for when she’s trying to make me do things I don’t wanna, like talk to people I don’t know, or do things I’ve never done before, like she’s my mom or something. I already have one of those. I don’t need another.
And I am older. Even if she forgets too, like everybody else seems to.
But even I forget sometimes.
It’s just easier, I guess, to let her be in charge.
It’s ’cause she’s fearless—that’s what Daddy says.
And I’m timid—that’s what everyone says.
When I asked Mommy once what that meant, she said it’s just another word for shy.
I get that one a lot too.
“You’re just more…careful than her. You’re a thinker,” she’d told me once, tapping me on the head. “Isobel leads with her heart, you lead with your brain. And that’s not a bad thing.”
Except it feels like a bad thing a lot of the time.
“I’m scared,” I tell my sister now, because I tell her everything.
“I know,” she says back, because she always does.
“I don’t wanna be on my own. It’s not fair.” I sniff.
It won’t just be Izzy I’m losing, but Waylon too. He’s basically our brother—same age as us. His mommy and our mommy were best friends growing up, but his mommy died when he was just a baby. We never met her. Waylon never got to either, not really, not that he can remember.
And because his daddy’s a really busy guy, according to Mommy—he’s a cop—and his uncle who used to help out watching him and stuff drives trucks around for work now, Waylon stays with us a lot. Mommy’s his godmother. I don’t have one of those—neither does Izzy—but we have our real mommy so I guess we don’t need one.
I hope we never need a godmother.
“Maybe…maybe if I do really good this year, they’ll let me skip first grade and go to second with you guys next year,” I say. “Then I’ll be all caught up and we can be together again.”
She nods strongly. “Yes! You can do it, JJ. I know you can.”
