We Are Us

He gives a shallow nod, the spell of his kiss broken. I grab for his pencil and circle Personal Finance, Public Speaking, and Practical Writing on my sheet.

“That was fast,” Gavin says.

I shrug. “I don’t want to open my mail and see bills with Past Due stamped in red across the front, I want to get more comfortable talking to people, and I happen to be a very practical person.”

He holds out his hand and I give him back the pencil. After a minute of frowning at the list, Gavin circles Computer Programming and Accounting.

“Law, computers, and accounting? Are you moving straight from sophomore year to grad school?” Although it wouldn’t surprise me. Gavin is already taking the most advanced math and science classes his school offers. Next year, he’ll enroll in a few college-level courses.

“I wish,” he jokes, but his lips are pressed together as if he’s holding in a secret.

“What?” I ask. “What aren’t you saying?”

“It’s dumb. A pipe dream. It’s probably never going to happen anyway so—”

“Gavin, there’s nothing dumb about dreams. Tell me.”

He doesn’t answer immediately and I think he’s probably hoping for a crack of thunder to save him, but there are only the normal forest sounds: rustling leaves, water cascading over rocky creek beds, the twitter and chirp of birds. Finally, he exhales a breath and mutters something completely inaudible.

I have no intention of letting him off the hook. “What was that?” I prod.

“FBI, all right. I want to be an FBI agent.”

I’m puzzled. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Wrong?’ He blinks several times, as if I’m the one who is confusing him. “Do you know how hard it is to get into the Academy? It’s basically impossible. I have next to no chance.”

Not that I’ve ever considered a career in law enforcement, but in my opinion, Gavin has every chance. “Why the FBI?”

“Because… Because they get to solve the toughest cases, put away the worst criminals. And I want to be a part of that.”

Gavin is still and serious, as if this is something he’s thought about for a very long time. “So, basically, you want to be a real-life hero.”

He ducks his head, a self-conscious grin pulling at his mouth. I loop my wrists over his neck, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Never forget that you were my hero first, okay?”

The look he gives me is so filled with heat, it melts the marrow inside my bones. “I can do that.”

I feel myself unraveling, coming apart in places I instinctively want to protect. To lighten the moment, I take one hand from behind his neck and bring it between us. “Pinkie swear?”

But Gavin doesn’t take the bait. “We can do better than that, don’t you think?”

From the minute we met, and probably without even knowing it, Gavin has been breaking down my walls and sanding away my protective veneer. He’s the reason I can go to school every day, knowing I’m an unwanted outcast, and still have something to smile about when I go to sleep. He’s the best part of my present, and the most important part of my future.

Despite the low rumble of thunder that accompanies the press of Gavin’s lips on mine, we linger in each other’s arms until we’re both breathless and panting.

Gavin finally wrenches away from me when the breath we share is as electric as the storm-charged air. And despite my protests that he should hurry home, he walks me all the way to the edge of the woods behind my house.

Blue light flickers from the living room window and I picture my mom sprawled on the couch, a half-empty wine bottle beside her, watching the Kardashians complain about their hair and their clothes and their multi-million-dollar houses.

Although it hasn’t started raining yet, the clouds hovering just above the tree line are dark and bloated, and our feet are nearly obscured by heavy mist. I turn around when another bolt of lightning leaves a jagged scar across the sky. “You had better make it home safe, Gavin. I might need you to rescue me one day.”

“Is that you, Poppy?” my mom calls when I shut the door behind me.

I sigh. The impending storm forced me home earlier than usual, before wine made her sleepy and inattentive. “Yep. I’m just going to finish my homework.”

“Can you start di

“Sure.” I open the refrigerator, hoping that maybe she swung by the grocery store on her way home but… no. We have two apples, a container of yogurt, and a dozen half-empty condiment bottles. I open the cabinet over the stove. “Mac and cheese okay?”

“There’s nothing else?”

I look back inside the cabinet. A box of cereal and a bottle of olive oil. “Nope.”

“Fine. Will you—”

“Yeah. I’ll pick up a few things this weekend.” I automatically swallow the resentment that coils through me, thinking of the babysitting money I’ll have to shell out at the supermarket.

I’m grateful my mom is home with us, and that we have a home at all. I just wish it were easier, I guess.

When I have kids, I never want them to feel like they’re parenting me. I’ll have a career, not just a job, although my family will always come first. There will be plenty of food in the refrigerator, a basketball hoop at the end of the driveway, and one of those huge calendars in the kitchen—filled with soccer games, dance classes, and date nights.

Fifteen minutes later, I divide the pasta between three bowls and bring one to my mother. She puts her mug down and takes it from me, barely glancing away from the TV.

I want to ask her: When did this—di

They are questions I don’t bother asking. Even if my mom could give me an answer, I’m not sure I want to know.

Instead, I carry the other two bowls down the hall, tapping on Sadie’s door with the toe of my sneaker. “Come on in.”

“I can’t, my hands are full.”

I hear Sadie’s feet hit the ground; the door swinging open a moment later. “Well, this is a surprise.” She takes the bowl I extend to her.

“That we’re having mac and cheese for di

She rolls eyes that are nearly identical to mine. Almost everything about us is nearly identical, but not quite. Both of us can be called strawberry blondes, but mine veers more to the auburn end of the spectrum. We both have hazel eyes, but mine are green edged with amber and Sadie’s are amber edged with green. Our skin tone is the same, but she has a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that I love and she hates. She’s slightly curvier, I’m an inch taller.

The differences between my sister and I feel glaring to me, but they often go u

Since we are so close in age and appearance, most people assume we’re twins. But I’ve been a surrogate parent to her for my entire life, so to me, the eighteen months separating us sometimes feels more like years.

“No. I mean that you’re home before dark.” She scoops a bite of bright orange shells into her mouth. “Seriously, Pops. What do you do in the woods for hours on end?”

I shoot a pointed look toward the stack of library books beside her bed. I think she devours one a day. “You stay in your room all afternoon, reading about imaginary people.”