CHAPTER 4

Gary did not leave until eleven.

Martin shoved him out the door while Gary kept calling back, "Mia, I'll wait for your call!"

The door slammed so hard the hallway shook.

I lay in bed and listened. Martin shouted. Mom tried to calm him down. Mia cried for forty minutes.

Then silence.

The next morning, Mia sat at the dining table with her eyes swollen almost shut.

She did not speak when I came out for water.

Mom put a bowl of oatmeal in front of her and touched her hair. "Don't think about that man. He's crazy. It has nothing to do with you."

Mia took two bites, then set the spoon down.

"Mom," she said, "something feels wrong."

"What does?"

Mia glanced at me.

Only once.

Fast. Careful.

"Nothing," she said. "It's just too much of a coincidence."

Mom did not understand. She started muttering about dating apps and weird men.

I understood.

Mia suspected me.

She did not have proof, but she had always been good at smelling trouble under a clean floor.

That meant I had to move faster.

That evening, when I came home, the living room was waiting for me. Mom sat on the sofa, stern-faced. Martin held the remote without changing the channel. Mia was not there.

"Clara," Mom said. "Sit down."

I sat in the chair across from her.

"Mia told me something," Mom said. "She thinks you arranged that man last night."

I kept my face still.

"She says you've been acting strange. Watching her. Writing things down."

My notes app.

I had locked it, but the thought still pinched the back of my neck.

"I didn't," I said.

"Then explain him."

"He was Mia's problem. What does he have to do with me?"

"You're her older sister."

I laughed once. "So if she gets a fifty-two-year-old boyfriend, that's my fault too?"

Mom froze.

Martin cleared his throat. "Your mother isn't blaming you. She's asking. Don't get sarcastic."

I looked at him.

For fifteen years, that was almost all he had ever said to me. Your mother didn't mean it. Don't be sensitive. You're older. Let it go.

I stood.

"Are we done?"

"Stop right there," Mom snapped. "What has gotten into you lately? Mia says you've changed."

"Mia says I've changed?"

"She says the way you look at her is wrong."

I turned back to my mother.

"Have you ever asked me how I felt? Once? Have you ever asked if I was happy here?"

Her mouth parted.

"No. You haven't. Mia cries, and you believe her. Mia says I changed, and you put me on trial. Fifteen years, Mom. Same script every time."

For a few seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Mom said, softer, "I'm not putting you on trial. I just-"

"I know."

I went to my room and locked the door.

The system waited on my phone.

Today's wishes remaining: 1.

Mia wanted to turn suspicion into pressure. Just like when we were children. She cried, Mom stepped in, and I was supposed to shrink.

Not today.

I typed: I wish to lose ten pounds.

Wish accepted.

Ten for me.

Twenty for Mia.

I wanted to see if she could still stand in front of Mom and cry.