My alarm goes off at 1:30 PM, and I'm up and out of bed in an instant. I bolt down the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth and quickly head back to my room to get dressed. I grab everything I need and the journal in case Nathan might want to write and run out of my room, almost crashing into Hannah.

"Mona," Hannah scolds. I'm already flying down the stairs before "sorry" is out of my mouth. I hear Hannah follow me. "Where are you going?"

At the back of my mind, I pick up on the panic in her voice. It makes everything in me pause, but on the outside, I don't stop. I keep heading for the front door. I pass by Mom, and she gives me a questioning look. Hannah appears next to her a moment later, her jaw tense and her eyes wide. I'm not even out of the house yet, so what does Hannah even have to worry about?

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Mom asks.

"I promised to meet up with Nathan and Clara," I say, gesturing behind me at the door. "Can I go? I know it's last minute, but..."

Mom gives me a considering look. Hannah watches Mom, her jaw clenching and unclenching. She decides to keep her jaw tense when Mom's expression gradually stretches out into a smile.

"Sure," Mom says. Hannah makes an indignant sound, but that's all the permission I need. Mom calls me back before I fully shut the door. "If you're planning to talk on the phone all night, don't speak so loudly. Thin walls."

I laugh. "Sorry. I'll be quieter next time."

Mom waves me off. "Just go have fun."

She doesn't need to tell me twice. I shut the door, but I'm not quick enough to avoid hearing Hannah say I shouldn't be going out at all if I stayed up all night. I hear Mom sigh, but I don't stick around to listen to the rest of the conversation. I bolt straight to the school.

Once I'm outside the building, I punch in the code and run through the halls and up the stairs to the classroom looking directly out to the roof. Nathan and Clara are already there with a third chair.

"Hey," I say, climbing out the window.

Nathan looks up from his journal, smiling at me. "Hey."

Clara yawns, "How do you have so much energy?"

I shrug, drumming my hands on my thighs. "I don't know. Guess I'm just excited."

Nathan glances at me, the smile still on his face. "About what?"

I shrug again, forcing myself to grip the edges of my seat and lock out my arms to stop myself from fidgeting. "Being here."

Clara laughs. "I'm glad you like us that much."

How could I not? That seems impossible. Both of them have to know that.

"So your birthday," Clara prompts, sitting forward. "What are we doing? What do you usually do?"

I look up at the light blue sky. "My family usually stays up twenty-four hours from midnight on January 1st to midnight on January 2nd. We play in the snow. Watch movies. Things like that."

"Is there room for friends?" Nathan asks, twirling his pencil in his hand.

I smile. "If you want. But wouldn't you guys rather spend time with your families?"

Clara ignores the question, narrowing her eyes. "So if you're spending time with your family on New Year, does that mean we finally get to meet Morgan?"

The buzz from earlier fades, and suddenly there's only a hollow feeling. It starts in my chest and spreads throughout my entire body like a black hole opening up inside of me. It's almost like pins and needles but a lot worse. At least with pins and needles, I was feeling something. Now I don't feel anything at all except for the urge to collapse in on myself.

How does Clara always find a way to bring things back to Morgan? It would be impressive if it didn't fill me with dread every single time. I think it shows because Nathan slowly places his pencil in his journal and sets it on the bookcase, leaning towards Clara.

"Let's not talk about it, Clara," Nathan says, enunciating each word carefully.

Clara keeps her eyes on me. "Why not? I'm just curious. What's so bad about talking to Mona about her brother?" Clara's eyes darken. "Mona clearly needs to talk about it."

Nathan shakes his head. "That's not for you to decide."

Clara presses a hand to her chest. "I'm just trying to help her."

He leans towards Clara, holding both hands out in front of him. "Forcing her to talk about something she doesn't want to talk about isn't helping her."

Clara sneers at him. "Right, but forcing her to write about it does."

They go back and forth like this for a while, their voices rising. This is familiar in a way I never want to feel. Memories resurface from the night Morgan died, and they won't go away no matter how much I count my breaths or try to hyperfocus on something. All I can hear is Nathan and Clara arguing, filling the hollowness inside me with words and memories that cut into me like glass shattering. The sound of breaking glass in my head alone makes me flinch. Being cut by a shard makes me wince. And I can't stop wincing.

I swallow. "Can you guys—?"

They keep arguing.

"It's okay—"

Still nothing.

"Morgan's dead."

I don't think they would hear me. I don't even know why I said it, but the moment I do, they both quiet, turning to look at me. I flinch like they started yelling at me instead of staring in silence. I focus on the ground. The glass is gone, leaving cuts all over my body. Inside and out. But it's all I can feel now, and I almost want the hollowness to come back. Maybe then, my eyes wouldn't be filling with tears.

"Mona—" Nathan begins, standing to get closer.

I flinch, looking down at my hands, tightly interlacing my fingers. I don't realize I'm crying until the tears drop on my skin, the salt stinging like there really are cuts all over me. And when I glance up, Nathan and Clara are looking at me like I have physical injuries they can see instead of emotional ones that I've been burying. But I guess the emotional injuries are just as visible as any physical injury could be. And it's too late to hide it all now.

"Sorry," I whisper, playing with my bracelets.

Clara shakes her head. She pulls her chair over to sit next to me, taking my hand. "No. I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn't have pushed so hard for you to talk about your brother. I should've realized you weren't saying something for a reason."

I shrug. "You were curious."

"And a bitch."

I laugh, rubbing the heel of my palm against my eye. "A little bit."

Nathan pulls his chair over to my other side and takes my other hand. "Do you want to talk about it, though?"

I let out a breath. "No, but I probably don't have a choice now."

He gently squeezes my hand. "You don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to, but it would help us understand if you do."

Clara nods. "I only ever pressed you about your brother because it always felt like you needed to talk about it. We're here if you want someone to listen."

I don't know what it is about Nathan and Clara, but everything I've been holding in flows out of me:

"Morgan was my twin brother. We were really close. We would always talk and text to the point that some people found it a miracle if we got mad at each other. But I was always mad at Morgan."

"About what?" Clara asks. Nathan shakes his head at her. "If I don't ask, she won't tell us."

I nod. "Yeah. Probably not..." I take a deep breath, staring down at my shoes. "I guess between the two of us, Morgan was always the one that everyone liked better. He was charming and funny and nice, but that made him scared to confront people because he didn't want anyone to hate him. I was always the one to confront people for him, and he would make all these promises that he would pay me back and do things for me whether I asked for it or not like it would make up for what I did for him. And even if he did go through on his promises, it was like he didn't notice or even care when everyone started hating me because I did all these things for him.

"So when he told me on our fifteenth birthday I was the best twin in the whole wide world, I snapped and told him it would've been so much better if we weren't twins or siblings or even friends. He didn't understand why I would say that, and I didn't try to explain it to him, so we stopped talking after that.

"Everyone thought we'd get over it like always, but I couldn't. I didn't have friends to talk to. I didn't want to talk to my family about it because I thought they'd side with Morgan since he wasn't the twin that always got into arguments. And the one person I told almost everything to wouldn't talk to me. So one night, I snuck out to clear my head."

I swallow, feeling my chest tighten. This is the part of the story I try not to think about the most. My voice comes out a little quieter, but Nathan and Clara don't interrupt me to ask me to speak up. They just listen.

"Morgan heard me leave," I say, sitting back. "Our rooms were right next to each other, so we always knew when the other was sneaking out. It probably wouldn't have been such a big deal, but there was a blizzard that night. I wasn't thinking straight and left anyway because I was too restless to stay at home. I knew Morgan definitely knew I left, but I didn't think he would care. Not until he sent me a text: 'Do you mind turning on the light?'"

Nathan and Clara exchange confused glances. I can't help but laugh, but it comes out so softly, I'm not even sure I laughed at all.

"It was pretty stupid, but Morgan and I came up with this weird code," I explain. "We took casual phrases and gave them different meanings. Like 'do you mind closing the door' means 'shut up.' 'The light is too bright' means 'obviously.' 'I think the shadow's gone' means 'I'm over it.' We didn't really have one for 'do you mind turning on the light,' but I think he meant 'can you come back.'

"I ignored it, but..." I shut my eyes. "I didn't think that would mean he would drive after me. He didn't really even know how to drive. We both had our permits, but we weren't behind the wheel a lot. But he still figured out I would try to go ice skating at the park and decided to drive after me.

"He tried reasoning first, but when I wouldn't even look at him, he got out of the car and wrestled me in. He drove away as quickly as possible—no seatbelt, no closing the door—to make sure I didn't climb back out. He tried to make me laugh and get me to talk to him, but I just mocked him for not being as perfect as everyone thought he was since he was illegally driving. Apparently, he was as fed up with me as I was with him because he started shouting back at me about how I'm reckless and selfish and stupid and a lot of other things I can't remember. The more we argued, the faster the car went until... we crashed..."

I shut my eyes tight as the fear of skidding along the icy road shoots through me. The sway of the car. The blinding snow through the windows. The sudden darkness.

When I open my eyes, the sky is blue and I can see five feet in front of me. But I still feel my heart pound and hear Morgan's angry voice in my head like it's still that January night. The only things keeping me from completely slipping into the memory are Nathan and Clara holding my hands.

I take a deep breath. "I don't really remember everything I said to him that night or what happened afterward. I kind of remember flashing lights, voices, and waking up in a hospital bed. I also remember being told that he was... gone... But I don't remember ever apologizing to him. For anything."

The moment the last word leaves my mouth, it feels like I can't breathe. I've never told the entire story before. My family pieced together enough to figure out what happened, but they never heard it from me. I'm the only one that knows the full story. At least I was. Now Nathan and Clara know.

I wait for the silence to become awkward, but it never does. There's just... quiet. And sadness.

"I'm sorry," Clara says, squeezing my hand. "I didn't know."

I shake my head. "No one did. I haven't told anyone about what happened because it makes me feel guilty all over again."

Clara furrows her eyebrows. "Guilty?"

I nod. "If I hadn't left that night, he wouldn't have gone after me, and he would still be here."

Clara frowns. "You know all those things Nathan says about the reader's perspective being as valuable as the writer's perspective? Well, as the reader, I can tell you that Morgan could've been better to you, too. If he hadn't asked you to do all those things, then you wouldn't have left."

I blink, letting her words sink in. The more the words register, the more my chest overheats. Is this what it feels like to be angry? Or defensive? Or just feel anything in general when it comes to Morgan? It's been a long time since I've really let myself feel anything toward my brother, and I don't know what to do but get up and walk to the edge of the roof.

I stare out at the other rooftops and the empty street below. The sun reflects off the snow, blinding me, but I keep staring anyway. I count my breaths, watching them condense in the air until I'm calm enough. Even then, it takes a second for me to turn and face Nathan and Clara again. They're a few feet away from me, concerned expressions on their faces.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Just forget I said anything, okay? I'm fine."

Nathan shakes his head. "You're not. And that's okay. It's okay for you to be reacting this way."

I shake my head—more insistently than he did—sitting on the ledge of the roof. "I don't need people worrying about me or thinking I'm unstable. My family already has enough to worry about. I don't need them to worry about me, too. So I thought if I didn't talk about any of it..." I play with my bracelets. "I thought I'd be fine."

Nathan and Clara exchange glances. Nathan turns to me first, holding a hand out like he's trying to placate me. It doesn't feel condescending, but even if it did, I don't have the energy to care right now.

"It's okay to feel what you need to feel," he says. "But I don't think you should feel guilty. I understand why you feel that way as the writer, but as the reader, I see you as a great sister for even feeling this much guilt for something that wasn't in your control. Maybe you feel like you're a bad sister, but there are worse siblings out there."

I scoff, swiping at the tears building in my eyes again. "Oh, really? Someone did something worse than getting their brother killed?"

He glances away, his eyes downcast. "Depends on how you look at it."

I pause, studying Nathan. I don't think I've ever seen him so upset. It's a new side of him, and I think it's probably my least favorite side.

"I think there are worse things," he says. "Like what I'm doing."

I blink. "You have siblings?"

He smiles. It falls flat. "I guess it's my turn to share."

Clara puts a hand on his arm. I guess she's learned not to push too hard because she asks, "Are you sure? You haven't talked about it aloud in years."

Nathan meets my eyes. His are distant like stars, but they're not shining like stars. It's like his eyes are on the verge of winking out of existence, but they're still trying to shine. Just to give off some light. Maybe just for me.

"I'm sure, Clara," Nathan says.

Nathan takes a deep breath and starts his story:

"My parents took turns running errands and looking after the café for as long as I could remember. One day when I was five, it was my mom's turn to run errands and my dad's turn to look after Poems and Tales." Nathan lets out a breathy laugh, glancing off to the side. "I remember being really excited to spend time with my dad, and for a while, we did spend time together. But then this one woman came in. She and my dad were having a really good conversation about something—I can't remember. But I do remember that they talked until my mom came back.

"After that, I started seeing her everywhere. She would be at the park when my dad and I were there. She would be at Poems and Tales when my mom wasn't. And sometimes she would even help my dad pick me up from school." Nathan pauses, raking a hand through his hair. His jaw tenses as the memories come back to him. "I think what really threw me off was how nice she was to me. I barely even knew her, but she was acting like she's known and cared about me my entire life.

"I think that's why I was so suspicious of what was happening even at that age, but I kept telling myself I was making things up. But it was hard not to be suspicious. Especially when my dad disappeared most nights and..." Nathan swallows, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "And she got pregnant. She was pregnant three times..."

Oh... Shit...

Nathan lets out a breath. "I was ten when my dad finally came clean to my mom. My door was shut, but I heard everything without having to try. My mom eventually stormed off and my dad came to my room to tell me himself. I don't know if he wanted to pretend to be the good guy or to see what my reaction would be or what, but he told me everything he told my mom, including the fact that I have three half-siblings: two brothers and one sister. The oldest one is five years younger than me."

Oh. Shit.

"My dad moved out to go live with his other family after a few days," Nathan continues, looking at a point past me. "He invited me to meet my half-siblings, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go. My mom didn't really care about what I did. She said it was my choice to do what I wanted. So I went once, and I never came back again.

"It's not that they were horrible. I care a lot about them, but they were reminders of what happened, and I couldn't look at them without thinking they were part of the reason why my dad left.

"I know I can't blame them for anything Nick did—" Nick's his dad? That's why things were so tense the other day? This is what happened between them? "—but at the same time, I can't help but do just that."

Nathan takes a deep breath, finally looking directly at me. His starry eyes are almost completely out now, but I like to think there's still a little bit of light in them. Even when he finishes with, "So yes, there are worse things than what you think you did because that was completely out of your control. I have a choice to be there for my siblings, but I choose not to. I choose to have nothing to do with them."

I shake my head, sitting forward. "But you still have a chance to fix it. I don't."

Nathan shrugs. "You were still a good sister—are a good sister."

"You don't know that."

Nathan presses a hand to his chest. "I know I'm a worse sibling than you are. I'm never there for them."

"It's not like I'm there for my siblings now."

"Well, the first time I saw my siblings, I told my dad they symbolized how twisted his relationship with Delilah is."

We go back and forth, trying to outdo each other in who's the worse sibling.

"I don't even go to see my siblings," Nathan argues.

"I haven't been to Morgan's grave."

"What?" Nathan and Clara blurt at the same time.

I shouldn't be smiling, but I do. "I win."

Clara sits next to me, putting a hand on my arm. "Mona. Why haven't you been to Morgan's grave?"

My empty smile slips away, and I look down at my hands. "Because I may not remember the last thing I said to my brother, but I know it was far from 'You're the best brother in the world.' I let him die thinking I hate him, and I can barely handle the guilt. If I have to go see his name engraved in stone, I don't know how I'll react."

Nathan sits on my other side, taking my hand again. "You forget that Morgan also died knowing you just had an argument. Whatever you feel, he probably feels it, too. Maybe it's time you forgave yourself if you're willing to forgive Morgan."

"What if...?" I swallow. "What if I don't forgive Morgan? What if I'm still mad at him? What does that say about me?"

Nathan offers me a gentle smile. "I think that says you're human. And that you haven't let yourself feel what you need to feel."

Clara nods. "Nathan's right." She makes a face. "And you know how hard that is for me to say, so you know you really should listen to us." That gets a genuine laugh out of me, and I lean into Clara, resting my head on her shoulder. She rests her head on top of mine, squeezing my hand. "You should go see your brother's grave. Maybe it'll help you sort through your feelings."

I nod, sitting up. "I think my parents want me to go for my birthday. They've been hinting about wanting to go home to celebrate."

"But you don't want to?" Nathan asks.

I don't think I have an answer to that, and I'm not sure I want to know the answer to that. "Hannah doesn't think it's a good idea. That's why I live with her instead of my parents. So I'm farther away from Morgan and could—I don't know—get over his death or something." I swallow. "I think that's why she's so overprotective, too."

"That's actual bullshit," Clara growls.

Nathan doesn't verbally agree, but I note the way his eyebrows knit together and the slight roughness in his voice. "If your parents already want you to go, then that makes it easier for you, right? All you have to do is tell them."

I shake my head. "It's not that easy."

"Then..." Nathan pulls me after him to the chairs and hands me my journal. He smiles as he presses it into my hands. "Why don't you write something out first and then we'll work on saying it out loud."

"Stop turning her into a poet," Clara grumbles.

I would laugh, but I don't think it's such a bad idea. Especially when Nathan is so sincere about it. He's sincere about everything. It makes it easy to believe everything he says, including how writing might help me. So I sit and pour all my emotions out in ink.