"You won't. You're not capable. But I'll be nice. Ish," Julie says. "And it is nice to say someone is cuter in person."
Imogen motionsso-so. "Don't listen to her. She's messing with you."
"Oh. I know." I motion for Julie to sit at the table.
She does.
"I'm a younger sibling too."
"So the game is on?" she asks.
"Absolutely."
She smiles.
"Are you as competitive as your sister?" I ask.
"No, no, no. We're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk about you," she says.
"Are you?" I ask.
She nods. "Way more."
"You look like her too," I say.
"But I'm cuter?" she asks.
"Our secret." I sit across from her.
"She's taller." Julie shakes her head. "It's not fair. But I guess it's fitting, the older sister being taller. It's weird when a younger sibling is taller. Don't you think?"
"Kinda," I say. "When you're a kid, it seems off."
"Has Imogen repeatedly reminded you I'm a naive seventeen-year-old?" she asks.
"Only once or twice," I say.
"I'll be a senior next year," she says. "We're four years apart. That's unusual."
"My sisters too," he says.
"Older or younger?" she asks.
At the counter, Imogen freezes.
Julie reads her sister too well—we're facing each other, but we're both in eye shot of Imogen. She notices and raises a brow.
"My sister died," I say. "Last year. Deidre. This was her place."
"Oh, shit. Imogen mentioned that and I totally spaced. I'm sorry." Julie sinks into her seat, deflated. It's not fun to tease the guy with the dead sister.
"Thanks." I hate this. The way the air changes when I mention her death. I don't blame Imogen for keeping her secrets to herself, keeping them from her sister.
I hate it, as a younger sibling—
But I get it.
"My older sister, Molly, she was about four years older than Deidre," I say. "She's in her thirties."