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“Such a remarkable future,” Mrs. Augustine says. “I always knew you were headed for something big.”
I am headed for something big too, I want to interrupt to say.
“You couldn’t have known back then,” Tovah says, blushing.
“I can always tell which students are going to be successful.” As though she can take some credit for Tovah’s achievements. “You were always so serious about your schoolwork. So focused. You’ll be an excellent surgeon.”
Tovah turns an even deeper red. “Thank you.”
Perhaps no matter how happy I am, Tovah will always be happier.
The two of them hug, and Tovah spies me watching her. She stares hard at me, like she wants to say something acidic, but stays silent. I don’t say anything either. Instead I get a piece of cake, find a lone tiny chair in the back of the classroom, and welcome the darkness in my mind. The darkness and I are close these days.
Tovah tried, with her promise of forgiveness back in Canada, but she will never understand. We may be twins, but some things cannot be shared. We can share some percentage of our DNA. We can share hair color and body types and an affinity for stupid movies. But this is mine alone.
Our results weren’t fair. It’s a childish thought, sure, but it’s how I feel. I widened the rift between us when I deleted her applications, but she is the one who never got over it. She is the one who wanted to leave our family, who pushed me away, who forced me to learn about a bleak future I wish had remained a mystery.
And yet: she is the happy one. Lately she has been smiling more, acquiring experiences she previously shied away from. Living, while half the Siegels are dying.
I cannot enjoy the rest of my life with this sister in it. I am convinced of that now.
I finish my cake. I want another piece, but the kids have left only crumbs. They’re on a sugar high that makes them race, tumble, dance around the classroom. Ima watches them with a slightly distant, glazed look in her eyes. Tovah is grinning at her phone.
My relief turns to rage. Time to amend my plan. Instead of letting my sister back in, I will cut her out and make her suffer, steal as much of her happiness for myself as I can.
Truly, I am doing her a favor. I am doing all of them a favor. My death will be less of a tragedy for Tovah if during my life I am full of spite. My cruelty will be at its core a selfless act, and my parents will pity me too much to punish me. I am a girl without consequences. A girl untethered.
Vengeance. That is what sings through me now.
Twenty-two
Tovah
JANUARY SLIPS INTO FEBRUARY. I give away my hospital shifts because I can’t bear to be that close to death. I struggle to fall asleep, and when I do, I have these nightmares. A surgical mask is stretched across my face, so tight I can barely breathe. Someone’s sliced open on the operating table in front of me, a different faceless person every night. I always make mistakes. I snip a vital artery. Jab a scalpel into a heart. I have to tell waiting, weeping family members that I’ve failed. I never fix anyone.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” Lindsay says one day after seventh period. Her legs are so short she has to jog to catch up with me. “Tov! Slow down.”
I pause as we enter the senior hallway. Since the carnival, we haven’t had any conversations that last longer than the few minutes in between classes. She spends lunch with Troy, and I spend it with my homework or with next week’s Torah portion or with Zack.
“I’m not ignoring you,” I say, which of course isn’t true.
She scrunches up her face, as though this conversation causes her physical pain. “I don’t want to fight.”
Lockers open and shut along with the regular end-of-day chaos. Since my attempts at heart-to-hearts have failed, I guess I can pretend we’re best friends for a few more months. Until graduation. And whatever happens after that.
“Do you want to forget about it?” I ask, and her face softens.
“That would be so great if we could. I’m going to plan something fun for us. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say, but I’m no longer looking at her because something else has caught my attention. My sister’s at my locker down the hall—talking to Zack. “Message me later?” I say to Lindsay before she heads for her locker on the other side of the hall, and I quicken my stride.
Adina and Zack aren’t friends. They met at the carnival, when I blew her off because I was convinced she’d act like her usual storm cloud self if we hung out together. Naturally, I felt guilty afterward—when do I not feel guilty when Adina is involved? Sometimes I wonder if I’m allowed to get mad at her or if, like she said when we fought, she wins every argument we ever have.
I can’t read Zack’s face or hear the conversation, but he grins when he spots me. “Hey. I was waiting for you,” he says. “My art teacher was telling me about this photography exhibit that’s all pictures taken underneath microscopes. Wanna check it out this weekend?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, but I’m looking at Adina. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw Zack by your locker and decided to say hi.” Adina stares up at Zack from beneath her lashes. She does this thing with her cherry-red lips: she keeps them slightly parted, like a rosebud about to bloom.
