“Actually.” She blushes to the roots of her hair, then begins to unzip her jacket with unsteady fingers.

“Whoa, whoa,” Kaia begins, but the jacket’s already unzipped, and when we get a good eyeful of the girl’s shirt, my jaw hits the floor. It’s four Raisin Creme Pies, in neon colors, overlapping like an Andy Warhol painting. The caption initially curdles the coffee in my stomach, but then I read it again. And again. #RespectForBettieIsOverdueParty

Surprise plonks me on top of the head, but it’s a delighted surprise.

“I got a Sharpie,” Kaia announces, riffling through her bag. “Hold up, let me find it. Where’d you get that shirt? Is that custom-made?”

The girl tells her where she ordered it from, and by the time she’s finished with her sentence, Kaia’s already ordered the shirt for everyone she knows. “Team Bettie, always,” she says.

With my signature emblazoned over the hot-pink Raisin Creme Pie, the girl rushes back to her friend, squealing. They jump up and down. Before Kaia and I are out of earshot, the girl’s friend shouts after me, “You’re her hero, you know!”

Kaia nudges me, grinning. “Can you sign my shirt, too?”

“Only if you sign mine.” I think about how my little sister pulled me back from the grips Lucas Dormer had me in. How, even though we weren’t particularly close, and I didn’t want to listen, she knew enough to know I needed help.

Backlash has finally arrived for the previously untouchable Lucas Dormer. It seems that his stint on Dancing with the Stars soured his image, so now it’s acceptable for Lucas’s girlfriends who came before and after me to tiptoe through, brave enough to speak out now that they feel they might be listened to. I’ve been trying to curtail the attention I pay to this news, but it’s not looking good for him. Even his ex-bandmates have put out a statement saying they are shocked and appalled to learn of this behavior, as if they didn’t try to silence me when I told my story. But at least the tide is turning now, so more women will have warning. Even though no one wanted to believe me back when my voice was the only one, I’m proud that I spoke up. And as for my closure, I keep a rubber snake on top of my microwave at home—I smile every time I pass it.

“Can I just say? And I’m not even kidding—you’re my hero, Kaia. I’m so lucky to have you as a sister.”

She makes a “pfhhhshhhaw” sound, turning away so that I don’t catch her wiping a misty eye. Then she tackles me with a noogie, because that is how she expresses her affection aside from creating music. Gratitude for my family, even when we drive each other up the wall with our collective obnoxiousness, brings an irresistible lilt to my heart. And so, by the time I’m back behind the counter at Mary Had a Little Boutique, dreaming of new cards I’m going to create, that light shining through the curtains of my heartbreak is a mile wide and forever long—a searchlight that will never stop looking out for me.