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“No. Six.” Evie groaned, another cramp rippling through her abdomen. “Please don’t tell Mum.” Afraid to eat, she nudged her untouched plate of dry toast across the coffee table with her bare toe.

“You’re your own worst enemy, you know that?” said Sam. “Totally in denial.”

About Nick? Evie shot him a glassy stare. “What are you on about?”

“Last night, eating whatever,” said Sam. “You’re not like everyone else, kiddo. You have to be careful.”

“I only had a little salsa.”

“And look how that turned out,” said Sam, the spluttering growls from the computer game intensifying. “Were you boozing, too?”

Ducking her brother’s scrutiny, Evie’s pulse quickened. She opened her book of word search puzzles and leafed through the pages. “No.”

“Wanna try that again?” Slaying another ghoul, Sam jerked as its teeth flew toward the screen. “I can always tell when you’re lying. Your voice dips.”

Shoot. She pinched her lips together. “Fine! I had two ciders in the park.” Her gaze diverted downward. “And a shot at the pub,” she mumbled, flipping the page.

“A shot?!” Sam tsked. “Oh, Evie—”

“Oh, Evie, what?” she seethed, her mood growing spikier by the second. “I can’t have fun? I have to stay home? Be the only one of my friends who can’t drink or have a boyfriend?” A tingly burn prickled the back of her nose.

Sam kept his big brother cool. “I’m not saying that.”

Evie’s chin trembled as she returned to her puzzle book, the page blurring. “Sounds like it.”

“I’m saying you need to listen to your body. You’ve felt dodge all week and still went out.”

“You really have no idea.” Tears spilled through her lashes. “You’ve always been popular, Sammy. You’ve never had to worry about fitting in or being left behind.”

Sam’s throat bobbed. “I wouldn’t say never.” Pausing his game, he nudged his breakfast sandwich aside and swiveled around. His face looked pained.

Usually when Evie felt unwell, she’d retreat, cancel plans, and stay home, but…

“I had to go out last night. If I didn’t, it would’ve been the fourth time in three weeks that I canceled on Stuart. He’d probably never ask again ’cause dating me is such a freakin’ headache.” Evie wiped her cheeks. “I’m tired of feeling crap. All I want is to be like everyone else. Is that too much to ask?”

“No.” Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But if you were like everyone else, you wouldn’t be Evie.”

She flinched. “Ew. Don’t make me barf—”

“Hear me out,” begged Sam. “I’ve seen you in action—helping new students, being kind to Mum’s elderly regulars. You’re always empathetic, always make people feel seen. That might not seem important or cool now, but trust me, being caring and compassionate matters…more than you know. The right friends will appreciate that. They won’t see you as a headache. They’ll see you as someone wonderful, someone they want to be with no matter what.” He smiled broadly. “So, don’t sell yourself short. Being different can be a great thing.”

Not when you’re fifteen and worried about where the nearest loo is. Blinking quickly, Evie tried desperately to stifle a further swell of tears. She shrugged a bony shoulder. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s hard to agree when I feel this rotten. No one understands what I’m going through.”

“You could always call that girl you met in Aberdeen,” said Sam.

“And be ignored? Uh, no thanks. I had enough of her snootiness in hospital. Worst roommate ever. Obviously, having Crohn’s doesn’t automatically make you a nice person.”

Sam scratched his dark ginger stubble. “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. It breaks me, seeing you like this. It’s not fair.”

Her heart dipped. Impressive exams results in hand, Sam would be leaving for veterinary school in Bristol next month. For all the teasing and big brother posturing, he really was a sweetheart. Evie would miss him terribly. “Thanks. I know I don’t say it a lot and we get on each other’s nerves most of the time, but you know I love you, right?”

“I love you, too, Sprout. And don’t worry. I won’t tell Mum.”

A flood of relief filled Evie’s chest. “Really? Oh, Sammy—!”

“But”—he held up a finger—“on one condition: promise you’ll play it safe next time? Have one drink and order something safe to eat, something you’ve had before with no problems.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m never touching a corn chip again.” She swiped a few lingering tears away from her eyes. “I don’t care if they’re Stuart’s favorite.”