“I know!” she wails, covering her face with her hands. “I couldn’t face it. I didn’t want to do it. I hated every second of every class. It’s not what I want to do, and I only went because it was expected. Who gets accepted to Stanford and just, doesn’t go? Me, that’s who. And then when you were telling me about applying for the promotion at your work, I was upset and jealous and I feel like a failure.”

“You’re not a failure. You’re . . . famous.”

She snorts. “Except I’m never going to act again.”

“Why not?”

“Malcom broke up with me.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, Eloise, but what does Malcom breaking up with you have to do with finding acting jobs?”

She lifts a brow. “He slept with Amanda Robbins.”

“Isn’t she . . . ?”

“She plays my sister on the show.” She blows out a breath. “He had me written off. Then he spread stories about me acting erratically and that I’m a compulsive liar. It was a total smear campaign, so if I try tell the real story of how he cheated, he can push back by saying I’m a jealous liar.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m not going back when filming starts again. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I failed school. I failed at acting. I have nothing left. And then I fought with you and it was mostly because I was trying to hide my own problems.”

I grab a tissue from the side table and hand it to her, scooting closer on the couch. “You haven’t failed. You can still try. You can find other acting jobs, no problem. You’re a great actress.”

She smiles weakly and takes the tissue, dabbing her eyes with it. “Thanks, but I don’t know. The industry is brutal. I might have burned bridges.”

“You only fail if you stop trying. You never know what’s out there. Next week there will be some other scandal and people will forget. Besides, Hollywood loves a good comeback story.”

She nods and we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both processing. My sister, who I’ve been avoiding for months, all because I was ashamed and comparing myself to her, has been doing the same thing.

Even people who seem perfect on the outside have their own burdens to bear. We were both masking our true feelings and perceived failures, only to seem better than we were, or stronger. But is it stronger to hide and deny scary truths? Or is this, the unmasking and revealing of our personal disasters . . . is this the definition of bravery?

Is it because our parents are always putting pressure on us to be strong and smart and perfect? Or can we even blame them, when we’re our own worst enemies?