“I don’t need new people.”
“That just shows how much you need new people.…” Wren squeezed Cath’s hands. “Cath, think about it. If we do this together, people will treat us like we’re the same person. It’ll be four years before anyone can even tell us apart.”
“All they have to do is pay attention.” Cath touched the scar on Wren’s chin, just below her lip. (Sledding accident. They were nine, and Wren was on the front of the sled when it hit the tree. Cath had fallen off the back into the snow.)
“You know I’m right,” Wren said.
Cath shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Cath…”
“Please don’t make me do this alone.”
“You’re never alone,” Wren said, sighing again. “That’s the whole fucking point of having a twin sister.”
*
“This is really nice,” their dad said, looking around Pound 913 and setting a laundry basket full of shoes and books on Cath’s mattress.
“It’s not nice, Dad,” Cath said, standing stiffly by the door. “It’s like a hospital room, but smaller. And without a TV.”
“You’ve got a great view of campus,” he said.
Wren wandered over to the window. “My room faces a parking lot.”
“How do you know?” Cath asked.
“Google Earth.”
Wren couldn’t wait for all this college stuff to start. She and her roommate—Courtney—had been talking for weeks. Courtney was from Omaha, too. The two of them had already met and gone shopping for dorm-room stuff together. Cath had tagged along and tried not to pout while they picked out posters and matching desk lamps.
Cath’s dad came back from the window and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said.
She nodded. “I know.”
“Okay,” he said, clapping. “Next stop, Schramm Hall. Second stop, pizza buffet. Third stop, my sad and empty nest.”
“No pizza,” Wren said. “Sorry, Dad. Courtney and I are going to the freshman barbecue tonight.” She shot her eyes at Cath. “Cath should go, too.”
“Yes pizza,” Cath said defiantly.
Her dad smiled. “Your sister’s right, Cath. You should go. Meet new people.”
“All I’m going to do for the next nine months is meet new people. Today I choose pizza buffet.”
Wren rolled her eyes.
“All right,” their dad said, patting Cath on the shoulder. “Next stop, Schramm Hall. Ladies?” He opened the door.
Cath didn’t move. “You can come back for me after you drop her off,” she said, watching her sister. “I want to start unpacking.”
Wren didn’t argue, just stepped out into the hall. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, not quite turning to look at Cath.
“Sure,” Cath said.
*
It did feel good, unpacking. Putting sheets on the bed and setting her new, ridiculously expensive textbooks out on the shelves over her new desk.
When her dad came back, they walked together to Valentino’s. Everyone they saw along the way was about Cath’s age. It was creepy.
“Why is everybody blond?” Cath asked. “And why are they all white?”
Her dad laughed. “You’re just used to living in the least-white neighborhood in Nebraska.”
Their house in South Omaha was in a Mexican neighborhood. Cath’s was the only white family on the block.
“Oh, God,” she said, “do you think this town has a taco truck?”
“I think I saw a Chipotle—”
She groaned.
“Come on,” he said, “you like Chipotle.”
“Not the point.”
When they got to Valentino’s, it was packed with students. A few, like Cath, had come with their parents, but not many. “It’s like a science fiction story,” she said, “No little kids … Nobody over thirty … Where are all the old people?”
Her dad held up his slice of pizza. “Soylent Green.”
Cath laughed.
“I’m not old, you know.” He was tapping the table with the two middle fingers of his left hand. “Forty-one. The other guys my age at work are just starting to have kids.”
“That was good thinking,” Cath said, “getting us out of the way early. You can start bringing home chicks now—the coast is clear.”
“All my chicks…,” he said, looking down at his plate. “You guys are the only chicks I’m worried about.”
“Ugh. Dad. Weird.”
“You know what I mean. What’s up with you and your sister? You’ve never fought like this before.…”
“We’re not fighting now,” Cath said, taking a bite of bacon-cheeseburger pizza. “Oh, geez.” She spit it out.
“What’s wrong, did you get an eyelid?”
“No. Pickle. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“You seem like you’re fighting,” he said.
Cath shrugged. She and Wren weren’t even talking much, let alone fighting. “Wren just wants more … independence.”
“Sounds reasonable,” he said.