Page 44 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I am (again) reduced to staring at the bisque. “I didn’t realize⁠—”

“Don’t.” Aurora reaches over for my hand, and it’s only after she covers mine with hers that I realize how rarely we touch. Once upon a time, Lucas had trained us to be huggers, hadn’t he? Afterward, I’d been the one to pull away from everyone.

“I’m smart enough to guess what you did for us. I’m also mature enough to be merely 90% angry and 10% understanding about the fact that I lost my older sister in the process. But”—she takes a deep breath—“even if I am grateful, I don’t want to be you.”

The odd thing is, even though we haven’t spoken much, even though I can recognize the strain I’ve probably put on our relationship, I know exactly what Aurora means. Especially given I’ve seen her college list, which I should have realized wasn’t merely all Ivies and top tens, but are almost all . . . East Coast. “You want to go away for college.”

“I’ve tried to fill in the gaps. When you’re not around and when Mother has her . . . whatevers.”

“You absolutely have. And I should have realized earlier⁠—”

“Nothing. You should have realized nothing earlier. You were our father and mother rolled into one. I can tell that it cost you, just like I could tell you needed me to step up, but⁠—”

“You’d like a break.”

“Do you think that’s awful?”

“I think it’s wonderful. I’m—” I take a deep breath and put my hand over hers, a hand sandwich. “I don’t mean this as an insult, but I’m proud of you.”

Aurora looks at me with relieved eyes. “I’ll apply to UC Berkeley and UCLA, if you want.”

“Don’t.” I laugh a little. “I’m guessing the whole you’ll go to community college thing was a bluff?”

“Needs must and all that, but it’s not exactly my first choice. I mean, even Obama transferred from Occidental to Columbia.”

“Why do you know that?”

This time, my little sister’s eyes are pure (affected, completely artificial) innocence. She bats her abnormally long lashes. “I haven’t decided if I’m prelaw, premed, or pre–world domination. Trivia like that is useful in all three of those paths.”

14

DARE TO DREAM, RED

BEFORE

Lucas gets progressively quieter, the closer we get to the airport.

Brody, with his Rimowa luggage, light-blocking silk sleeping mask, we-must-Uber-Premium because I’m-not-built-for-public-transit, and top-tier noise-canceling Bose headphones, doesn’t notice that the closer we get to LAX, the more catatonic our prize programmer becomes.

Instead, after using his TSA PreCheck, Brody waits impatiently on the other side of the retractable belt barriers.

While I still have TSA PreCheck from when my father would fly me out for luncheons that were really tests, I can’t bear to leave Lucas on his own when he’s examining the carpeted floor as if it’ll unlock the secrets of Fermat’s Last Theorem.

I try to catch Brody’s eye. “We’ll catch up.”

Brody’s brows crinkle when he sees the way Lucas is hunched over. “Dude. You nervous about nationals?”

Because I’m not sure Lucas is even registering the question, I answer for both of us. “I know I am.”

I raise large eyes to Brody, who isn’t stupid, just (sometimes) painfully slow. He keeps his voice light and gives me the barest of nods. “The mile-high club only counts if you’re in the air.”

Since Lucas still isn’t replying, Brody gives me an exaggerated wink before gesturing to the Delta Sky Club sign. I sigh internally; Brody’s parents upgraded our tickets, and I’d been looking forward to relaxing in the relative opulence of first-class life.

As soon as Brody’s out of earshot, I ask, “This is your first flight?”

Lucas’s head goes up and down in a labored way. His voice is wheezy. “It’s not a heights thing. You know I work as an electrician, and I’m fine twenty, thirty stories in the air because I have harnesses and lanyards, ropes and safety belts.”

Lucas places his hands on his thighs and is crouched over as though in pain. I pull him a little to the side, so the people in back of us can pass by more easily.