It was the same in real life. At my father’s office Christmas party, she was the one he introduced first. When we went to church, she got to sit between them. When a relative or an old friend asked my mom about the twins, it was Maddy’s accomplishments Mom launched into first. Me they were still trying to figure out.
I was the smart, quiet one who preferred the inside of a book to parties. Quirky and reserved, that’s how they described me to their friends. Quirky and reserved.
I quietly closed the door and made my way downstairs. It was pitch-black outside, the moon hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. It had rained earlier and, from the looks of it, was going to again.
I grabbed my coat and hat from the hall closet and headed outside. Luckily, the neighbors had left their porch lights on, or I would’ve walked smack into the trash cans at the end of our driveway. As it was, I’d already stumbled twice—once over Bailey’s half-chewed rope toy and again, steps later, over a sprinkler head. That last one landed me on my butt, cursing and trying to brush the dampness from my jeans.
When I finally made it to my car, I realized Maddy’s car was in the way. She’d parked straight across our driveway, blocking everybody in.
“Seriously, Maddy?” I said as I kicked her tire. It’d be fine if she was the first to leave in the morning, but she never was. Maddy was always the last one out the door, putting her makeup on in the rearview mirror while she raced to school. It was me who rearranged the cars each morning so Dad could get to work and I could get to school.
I winced at my throbbing toe and made my way back to the house. Moving the cars around wasn’t an option. If turning off the TV had the potential to wake my parents up, then shuffling cars in the driveway would certainly have them stumbling down the stairs wondering where I was going.
I hung my keys on the hook next to the door. There were five hooks there, each clearly labeled with a name. Mine, Dad’s, Mom’s, Maddy’s, even one designated for the lawn tractor keys, but Maddy’s weren’t there. Of course they wouldn’t be there. Knowing her, she’d probably thrown them on the counter when she came in, figuring one of us would find them and hang them up.
“This is the last time, Maddy. I swear to God, this is the last time I do anything for you,” I muttered to myself as I fished around our kitchen counters in the dark. She couldn’t make bailing her out easy. Nope, Maddy had to make everything as difficult as possible.
I finally found her keys wedged behind the radio. I picked them up, swearing to tear her a new one for being so selfish, then headed back out into the damp night air. If everything went as it should, I’d be home and in bed in less than a half hour with another of Maddy’s promises to make it up to me stashed away in my brain.
2
It was drizzling by the time I reached Alex’s house. Except for a few scattered cars parked between the trees, you’d never have known there was a party going on. I guess that was a perk of being really rich—a long driveway and lots of land to buffer sound.
I remembered the day Maddy met Alex Furey. We were freshmen, and it was our third day of school. I thought going to a new school with my sister would make everything easier, figured I’d have at least one person to sit with at the lunch table. I didn’t take into account that we had no classes together, that Maddy was a lot more outgoing than me, or that we had very little in common. I assumed we’d stick together, and I’d have a built-in safety net.