Red lights of an ambulance rush by. “Ha, that’s not a superpower,” I say. “I wish it was.”

“Believe me, it is,” Eddie says. “Not everybody thinks that way, and you’re really good at it.”

If I was really good at making people happy, I think, then the people around me wouldn’t be sad. But I tell Eddie thanks.

In my loft I upload the day’s pictures onto my laptop. I sit cross-legged and spend a long time scrolling through the small moments of the day. Blurry trees, an aerial shot of Ruth with her earbuds in and eyes shut. (Not a New Treasure shot, but still a pretty good one.) That’s what pictures are. Like a diary times three thousand.

The RV is dark except for the light from my computer. One of Ruth’s legs is dangling off the side of her bed and her black-and-blue hair is mussed in every direction. A snore gets caught in her throat and she moans and rolls over. She looks so peaceful when she’s asleep.

I get pretty in-the-zone when I’m going through pictures, especially now that I’m picking the very best ones to post. So it startles me a little when my phone buzzes.

Ruth: You okay?

I look down to her alcove and in the blue glow of her phone screen, I can see her looking at me. I must have woken her up. She looks back at her phone.

Me: Yeah, just looking at pics.

Ruth: Weirdo.

Then she sends a blurry, low-light photo of herself. The camera is just under her face and she’s pressed her neck backward so it looks like she’s got five chins. Her nostrils are flared and her teeth are settled on her upper lip in a ridiculous overbite.

I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing and waking everyone else up. I don’t care if Ruth gets mad at me tomorrow. That blurry picture will be a happy thought for a long time. It’s the healthy, vivacious, laughing, pirate-ship, Treasure-Hunt-creating version of Ruth.

Me: Your new profile pic.

Ruth: Get some sleep, you dork.

Me:

Before I shut down my laptop, I e-mail Ruth’s selfie to myself. I download it and save it on my desktop in a new folder I name “Sisters.” It’s not a picture for my secret Treasure Hunt, but it’s still a good one. Definitely a good one.

Then I close my laptop and put it in my bag. I find Murphy and lie down, pressing my forehead against the window. I scroll through the photos I’ve just uploaded to the cloud and find my favorite of the tree-streetlight shots.