I used to think she was right, but I’m not convinced a boring girl could hold Gideon’s interest. Neda must have some quirks and redeeming qualities that she’s managed to keep from me. Actually, I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about my sister. Sometimes I forget that we’re only a year apart. How is it that two girls who grew up in the same house, with the same parents, went to all the same schools, and were basically the same age didn’t grow up to be best friends? I don’t have an answer.

We are sisters by blood but acquaintances by choice. Well, by Neda’s choosing. If it were up to me, we’d have a different relationship entirely, but I have less power as the younger sister. I can make the overtures, but I can’t force her to return them. So, after years of trying, I finally gave up hoping we’d develop any sort of sisterly bond. And that’s probably why I feel so triggered when I hear her complain about being home. The place she hates to visit is the place I have to live. It’s like she’s taking a piss on my entire existence. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’s doing it with a boy I loved all through high school.

Like most high-achieving young women, I like to think of myself as independent and evolved, and not as someone who associates her self-worth with any form of male attention—but I also know that in order to be a good writer, you have to be a painfully honest one. So here’s the truth: I stayed in bed for an entire weekend when I found out that Gideon had chosen Yale instead of Harvard and that he’d be going to college with my sister.

I lied to my parents and said I was fighting bad cramps, and per usual, they were too wrapped up in a product launch to notice that my eyes were puffy from crying and that I’d been listening to “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift (the ten minute version) on repeat. I barely knew Gideon at first. We had a couple of classes together, and usually when we walked past each other on our way to our lockers, he’d smile and call me “Little Neda.” I took some comfort in the fact that he put the emphasis on the wrong syllable when he said her name. And I refused to take the nickname as a sign that he didn’t know my name.