“Erik will be Gloucester,” I said. We all paid incredibly close attention at the callbacks, since it was our best window into Mr. Campbell’s thought process. Who he paired up, who he read multiple times, and who got told they could head home early—the worst thing of all.

“Not Kent?”

“I don’t think so. He read Perry more for it.”

“You’ll be Cordelia—”

“Don’t jinx it,” I said, even as butterflies swooped in my stomach. “He read Emery for her too.”

“Yeah, but not as much. I think you’re a lock.” The first bell—which meant hurry up and get to class—rang. We picked up our pace as we left the student center and headed down the long hallway that would lead us to the north exit.

We were only a few steps in when I saw Stevie walking toward us. I grinned at her, throwing my arms up in an exaggerated what the heck gesture. “You’re going the wrong way!” I yelled, and saw her smile even though she widened her eyes at me, and I knew she thought I was being too loud. Stevie often thought I was being too loud; I usually thought she was being too quiet. And I was certain that I was always at the exact right volume.

“Was going to pick up my coat,” Stevie called, as she closed the distance between us. I held it up for her and she grinned. “Thanks, frand.”

“I’ve got you, frond.”

She caught up with us, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ears. I was incredibly jealous of her hair, which was so thick she could legitimately hide behind it, like she was a character in a Victorian novel, and she regularly popped her ponytail holders and sent them flying. And despite the fact that I’d been taking prenatal vitamins for years in an attempt to get my hair to grow thicker (pro tip: don’t leave these sitting out unless you want to have a very uncomfortable talk with your mother), it was to no avail.

Stevie Sinclair and I looked nothing alike—in fact, it was almost like we were opposites of each other. I was pale and freckled, she had olive skin that tanned perfectly; I was tall, she was petite; I had fine blond hair, Stevie’s was dark and wavy; I was lanky, she was curvy. But despite all this, when we were walking around together, or shopping, or hanging out at Paradise Ice Cream, people would ask us if we were sisters. This delighted us to no end, because it meant that they weren’t seeing that we didn’t look anything alike. It meant that whoever had asked this was asking because of how we were together. An energy, a sameness, a kinship that had been there from the very first day.