“I trusted you,” I said, gripping the phone and trying to yell at him as quietly as possible. “But you’re right. I accept my part in what happened. You might love her, but she’s my sister. I’m trying to turn things around so I can prove to her that—if she does find out—I’ve changed.”

“You can’t tell her,” Sterling said, sounding desperate.

“I won’t. But you know best of all, Sterling. Finley always finds out. She knew I cut her Barbie’s hair and she wasn’t even home. We hosted a birthday party that weekend. It could have been anyone, but she knew it was me.”

Sterling laughed once. “I remember that story.” He was quiet for half a second. “You’re right. We’re fucked.”

I closed my eyes. My lips skimmed the speaker as I spoke. “This is not we. I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Sterling. You’re on your own.”

“Ellie…”

I hung up the phone and sighed, pushing away from the desk and gathering my things for lunch with Jojo.

She was standing by the door waiting for me when I rounded the corner. I followed her to her Outback and ducked inside, hugging myself for warmth. Jojo seemed oblivious to the cold, twisting the ignition like she wasn’t wearing huge sleeping bags for gloves.

“You brought your camera, right?” she asked.

I held up my bag.

“I figured we’d try Camp’s Café. The food isn’t farm-to-table or organic or any of that shit, so it’s tourist free, and one of the quieter places, so I can show you some tricks on your Nikon. I’m excited to see what you can do. You seem like a natural.”

I laughed once.

“What?” Jojo asked, pulling out onto the road and poking at the heater setting with her mittens.

“That’s what Finley said. My sister.”

“Well, she was right. Maybe we can start covering things other than the farmer’s market and wandering wildlife.”

Jojo parked in the alley in a space meant for the townhouses spanning the entire block. She didn’t seem to be worried, stepping out and slamming the car door. We walked together, and I followed her past dumpsters and oil vats through a dirty screen door into the back kitchen.

“Jojo!” one of the cooks called.

Jojo waved, and then gestured for me to follow her past the pantry area, beyond the grill, and then the cash register.

“The same!” Jojo called. “Two!”

The woman behind the counter nodded and yelled back to her staff. “Two Jojos!”

We pulled off our coats, scarves, gloves, and hats, and sat them beside us in a booth by the window.

“You have your own sandwich? That’s kind of cool.”