Willow searched for the volume button on his stereo and adjusted it to the low drone of background noise. She stood there motionless, unable to put words to thoughts.

“What’s on your mind, sis?”

Ryan had always doted on Willow. For the last six years, as far back as her memory went, he’d been her protector, her hero. If a kid at school made her cry, he’d take care of it. If she got in a fight with Mom or Dad, Ryan came to her defense. They had a special bond that nothing could break . . . until now. Now it felt like her whole world was breaking, and her brother was soon to be swallowed up with it.

She sat on the bed next to him, ignoring the funk peculiar to teenage boys’ rooms—a heady mixture of dirty laundry and raging hormones—pushing herself back with her heels until she met the wall. Ryan joined her so that they were both leaning against the wall, socked feet splayed in front of them against rumpled gray-striped sheets.

“What did you mean when you asked Mom about your biological father?”

He didn’t answer at first. In fact, he didn’t say anything. Finally: “So you heard that, huh?”

“Yep. Does that mean you have a different dad than me? Or is Dad not my dad either?”

“Hey,” Ryan said, enfolding her small hand in his, “no matter what, we have the same parents. And yes, Dad is your dad. It’s just that before Mom met Dad, she dated someone and that’s where I came from. But apparently he’s not a good guy, so that’s why Mom never told me about him. Nothing changes, though. We’re still a family.”

“But if Mom kept that a secret for so long, how do we know there’s not other secrets they’re hiding? What else hasn’t Mom told us?”

Ryan’s hand, with Willow’s tucked in it, dropped to his lap.

“I don’t know, Will. I wish they wouldn’t have lied, but we all have secrets. I guess we’re entitled to have a few, don’t you think? Especially if keeping the secrets means not hurting others.” Ryan grew somber as he said this, as if haunted by something.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if telling a friend that she sucked at singing was the truth, but telling her would make her feel bad about herself? Is it better to be honest and hurt her feelings, or lie and let her feel good about herself?”

“I don’t know. I guess let her feel good about herself.”

“Right, because what’s the point of hurting her feelings if it’s not going to serve any good?”