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They were watching a movie on a large screen. It wasn’t even the television. It had been projected onto the wall for maximum effect, and standing right to the side of it was Stephanie Witts, but she wasn’t alone.

Zoe.

Gianna.

And next to them? Duke and Willow’s ex-best friend, Serena. He had his arm around her. I turned away from them. They didn’t even deserve my attention, but Duke dropped his arm as soon as he saw me. His eyes widened, and he jerked forward a step.

“Mackenzie—”

He was already groveling. I heard it in his voice, and I leveled him with a hard look. “Don’t. Even.”

I didn’t need to ask how they got there. I looked right at Stephanie. “What’d you do? Go on my social media? Google my sister’s name?”

Her eyebrows went up, and her lips pulled back in a haughty smirk. “You told me to come at you with the worst I could do.” She waved at my ex-friends, at Willow’s ex-friends. “Here you go. They’ve been telling me all about your sister—”

I finally looked at the screen, and I tuned her out. She was saying things, no doubt hurtful things, but it didn’t matter in that moment.

Willow had been right. It was her. They were watching a compilation video of her winning the championship with that six-foot, papier-mâché dragon. She smiled, holding the dragon in one hand and the purple ribbon in the other. Her trophy was next to her, and she was so proud. She was beaming. Then the video skipped ahead to her nuzzling noses with Duke. Then I saw her and her friends, all in their cheerleading uniforms. Then older pictures of Willow—her school pictures when she was in third grade, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, all the way up to what should have been this year’s picture.

They showed her senior picture.

I felt tears sliding down my face, but I didn’t care.

So many pieces, one after another, connected, and they were strong. Twenty-five. Goddamn twenty-five, and I felt them in me. They were pulsating. They were buzzing. They were firm, cement, and more were coming.

“You guys had your pictures taken right before you moved,” Duke murmured, coming closer. “She mailed that back to me. I got it a week after . . .”

She’d sent it before she killed herself.

I didn’t respond to him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yet. The video kept going.

Pictures of Willow and me: she was smiling, I was rolling my eyes.

Pictures of her in her track uniform and me in my soccer uniform.

Pictures of us hugging each other.

Pictures taken of us at school lunch one day. I had a bag of Cheetos, and she was eating a carrot. A goddamn carrot.

Pictures of us before school: Willow was in a dress. I was in jeans.

Willow wore a skirt, and I had holes in my shirt. Willow’s hair was always perfectly styled, and mine was pulled into a messy ponytail.

I got the message Stephanie wanted to send, and I looked at her, wiping some of my tears away. “What? Are you going to follow this presentation with your decision that she shouldn’t have killed herself, and I should’ve? That she was the twin who shined, and I wasn’t? That I’m drab, and dull, and boring? And she excelled at almost everything?”

I had crossed the living room so my shadow hit the projector. Images of my sister continued to play over my face, but I kept staring right at Stephanie.

“Do you think I don’t think of that every day since I found her?” I whispered. “Do you think I’m not haunted by her? By the thought that if I had—maybe she wouldn’t have?”

My voice broke at the end.

Someone sniffled behind me.

I heard another whisper.

And I felt a presence at my back. I thought it was Willow at first until a hand—a real live hand—touched mine. It was Ryan. He didn’t pull me back, though. He was just there for me.

I latched on to him, lacing our fingers together, and he moved a step closer so I could feel his heat against my back. His other hand rested on my hip.

Stephanie’s malice had started to wane, and her forehead wrinkled as she began to frown. “I mean, come on.” She glanced around for support.

There was none.

I didn’t look, but I could feel the somberness creeping over the room. Anyone who had thought this was going to be funny didn’t seem to anymore, and if it wasn’t because of me, it probably had to do with Ryan, and the whole group that stood behind us.

“It’s obvious your sister was popular, and you’re . . .” She tried to sneer at me. And like everything else, that too failed.

“I’m what?” I raised my chin higher. “Mourning such a deep loss that I hope even you will never feel anything like it? Healing? Trying to keep going? Forcing myself to go forward because my family needs me? Because I’ve found people here who love me and support me, and I need to keep going for them? Is that what I am?” I raised my voice, grating out, “Does that somehow make me less than you? Less than anyone else in this room? Or maybe, just maybe, that makes me stronger than you? That makes me a goddamn survivor, when trust me, the thought of joining my sister is sometimes easier than breathing.”