“You’re so smart, Mo!” he says, and begins counting my virtues on his fingers, “and you’re funny, and you’re good, and you bake the best chocolate murder cookies, and you’re personable and you amassed fifty thousand signatures on a petition to save your favorite fictional character. Everyone loves you the second they meet you.”

“But—but you—”

“What about me? I walk in and just try not to stumble over my own two feet. Everyone at school, all of our teachers, they take one look at my name and say, ‘Oh, you’re Imogen’s brother,’ because you leave a legacy so freakin’ long that I’ve got little to no chance of the teachers actually remembering my name.”

“Bullshit. You’re a great football player! And you have the perfect boyfriend, and you’re vice president and—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes, “because that’s the only way I can get out of your shadow.”

I blink, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gobbling water, trying to think of some kind of comeback. Milo feels like he’s in my shadow? I would ask if he’s joking, but there’s a crinkle between his brows that he always gets when he’s being honest. It’s so absurd that I begin to laugh, and so does he. I’ve been so bent on trying to get out from under his shadow, and he’s been trying to get out of mine, that we just made everything impossible for each other.

“Okay, okay, let’s make a deal,” I say as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Let’s come to each other if we’re feeling this way. And talk it through.”

“Gross, like siblings who support each other?” He makes a face, and I punch him in the arm.

“Yes, like siblings who support each other—”

His phone begins to blare the Power Rangers theme song, and he digs it out of his pocket, checks the number, and shoots me a look of alarm. “It’s Coach Evans.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later—”

“—or never—”

“Go answer it! Good luck!” I add as he scrambles off of the throne and closes himself in the storage area for privacy. I’m not going to say that I’m not nervous for him, because I am. I want him to get quarterback—I think he would be an amazing addition to the first yarn or whatever it’s called.

I’m really hoping things work out.

“Is something wrong, Monster?” Minerva asks as Kathy checks out the Sailor Moon customer. Minerva’s wearing her hair in a fishtail braid that slithers like a stroke of black ink down her shoulder, blending in so seamlessly with her black lace dress that it almost looks like it’s part of the outfit. “Your aura is very gray today.”

“Earl or Dorian?”