That’s what Mom has done to me, without even knowing it. Because of her, I’m cut off from everyone I used to turn to as a support system: my sister, Pop. And now I am completely alone.

At some point in my pity party I look up and see Afton sitting on the other side of the patio, having dinner with a dark-haired boy with his back to me—Michael, I assume. They appear to be on a real, honest-to-goodness date. She’s wearing a white flowered sundress and the strappy sandals, which I wouldn’t have recommended, as they are probably cursed now, after their encounter with Leo at the swim meet. Her hair is loosely braided in a long fishtail that’s pushed forward over one shoulder. She’s a shade or two more tan than she was only a day ago, and it makes her come off like she’s glowing in the white dress.

She’s perfect. Barf. If a mermaid came to shore for only one night, to have a plate of Mexican food with a handsome prince, she’d be exactly Afton.

She also looks, well, happy. The glow isn’t entirely the tan. She’s leaning forward slightly, listening intently to whatever it is that Michael’s saying, a relaxed smile on her lips. Then she stops for a second to dip a tortilla chip in salsa, and as she’s bringing it to her mouth, it drips. Right down the front of her white dress. Splat.

I brace myself for the drama. Her horrified expression. The frantic dabbing of her napkin dipped in ice water. Maybe she’ll have to excuse herself to go change.

But Afton only laughs. Not a delicate, feminine titter, either, but a real, full-throated laugh I can hear over that dude’s sappy guitar. She throws her head back and lets out a guffaw of pure amusement. Oh, silly salsa. Oh, silly dress.

My breath catches. I immediately want to sketch her expression, but then I realize that I already have. It’s in my sketchbook from over a year ago. I reach down into my bag and pull it out, flip the pages until I find it.

Afton Laughs, I called it.

My sister has never been a big laugher. Pop says it’s because she has a dignified old soul. Not that Afton is missing a sense of humor—she has that fierce, dry wit when the occasion calls for it—but she almost never laughs out loud. When we were kids we’d see something funny on television and I would crack up laughing, and Afton would be sitting next to me crisscross with the smallest of smiles on her face. That was it. The most you can usually get out of Afton is a quick, amused exhalation, a laugh-breath. If that.