So when I see what she’s like now, I feel a little lift. And also a sense of pride. I didn’t do all the work of raising her—Mom did a heck of a lot before she died. And Dad, in his own way, is a rock we can always count on. He may be a little clueless, but he’s completely dedicated. He’s barely socialized since Mom died. He’s home with us night after night after night. But still…Olivia wouldn’t have bloomed like an overwatered weed if it hadn’t been for me. And it’s not a one-way street, either. It hit me in the last year that Olivia is about the best younger sister anyone could have, and the past week has truly confirmed that.

We make eye contact. She smiles, and I feel better than I have all day. She’s holding hands with Gabriela, but Olivia breaks loose and runs over to me. She throws her arms around me and gives me a hug right there in front of everybody.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“For you. Just because you look like you need a pick-me-up.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Gabriela joins us. She has jet black hair past her shoulders with a purple streak that matches Olivia’s. Gabriela doesn’t talk nearly as much as my sister, but when she does, she exhibits a wisdom beyond her years. It seems like Gabriela is really a thirty-year-old posing as a teenager. Dad says her unflappable maturity comes from being the child of immigrants. Gabriela came to America from Mexico when she was five and didn’t speak a word of English. Now, she’s the top reporter on the school paper and writes more clearly than most of our classmates.

“I don’t need a ride home,” Olivia says.

“Are you two doing something?” I ask.

Gabriela rolls her eyes and looks away. She taps her foot.

Olivia just shrugs. It’s the rarest thing of all for her to not speak when asked a question.

“What is it?” I ask.

“She has detention,” Gabriela says.

“What for?” I ask.

“Just a stupid misunderstanding,” Olivia says. “And not very fair. I was fully justified in everything I did. I might write a letter to the school board. Or Gabby might do an exposé for the paper.”

“I’m not doing an exposé,” Gabriela says.

“What did you do?” I ask.

Olivia looks at her phone. “I’m going to be late.”

“Livvy,” I say, “you’re always late.”

“Just forget about it, Hunter,” she says.

Gabriela is still tapping her foot. She shrugs and says, “So here’s the thing, Hunter. Liv punched a guy in study hall. He was talking shit about you, calling you a murderer, so she decked him.”