The credits soon rolled, and Commissioner Gordon’s final lines simmered around us. Familiar goosebumps sprouted on the back of my neck as I realized she was taking in every inch of my silhouette. A whirr came from the projector shutting itself off, encasing us completely in silent darkness. As eerie as the basement could have been, something about being there with her kept it from seeming like the start of a Twilight Zone episode.

Of course, there was still time.

“Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

“Not asking.”

“Anytime.” My fingers tap-danced against my legs and the stillness around us grew louder. I could pretend my heightened senses were due to the darkness and it being well after 2:30 a.m., but I’d know I was kidding myself.

“You tired yet?” She asked.

I shook my head. “You?”

She sat up, pulling her pink and yellow socks away. “I’ll put the game in.”

“I’ll get the guitars,” I said, “And break.”

While Carter’s room was the main video-game arena, some games could be played only on the big screen. After I’d dug around for our equipment and Eliza forwarded through the credits, we stood ready with white plastic guitars slung over our shoulders. Guitar Hero has always been one of my favorite games, and Eliza and I played it together all the time—or at least we used to. Carter never really got into the whole “musical notes = points” thing, so when Eliza needed someone to show her how it was done, I taught her everything I knew.

Well, not everything. It’s not like Obi-Wan straight-up handed Luke a copy of How to Be a Better Jedi than I Am 101. Some things Eliza would have to figure out for herself.

The game characters we’d created when we were twelve still existed in the system. Eliza played as a pink-haired rocker chick and I selected a cool guy with a mohawk. Previews of the songs blasted as Eliza scrolled through our choices.

“You want a practice round?” I asked.

“Only if you do.”

I let her think she had the last word. She pressed Start for “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll,” the easiest song in the game. Guess we were doing a practice round. Maybe it was because it was late/early in the morning, but Eliza played her guitar like a zombie trudges for brains. Jumping onto my knees and strumming like a total idiot to cheer her up, Eliza gave me a tiny laugh, not dancing back.

I ended up beating her on the song by about 20 percent.

“Nice work, Maguire. Looks like you’ve been practicing.”

“Don’t mistake work for natural ability,” I replied. “Helps when you go easy on me.”

I nudged her with my guitar.

“All right, all right. I’ll give you a fair fight this time.” She dragged her fingertips through her hair. “Sorry, little distracted.”

Same, sister.

“You’d better,” I said.

When we were younger, Carter and Eliza could not have been more different—Carter loved sports while Eliza loved arts and crafts; Eliza liked reading and relaxing in Ms. O’Connor’s flower garden while all Carter wanted to do was play soccer and video games. Carter always wanted to eat pizza and chicken wings, while Eliza wanted waffles and grilled cheese. On Friday nights, their fights over which movie to watch could last for a full hour.