PRAISE FOR NATASHA PRESTON’S BESTSELLING THRILLERS

THE LAKE

An eerie thriller reminiscent of summer horror movies that will keep readers on edge. —Kirkus Reviews

THE TWIN

This fast-paced thriller will be a hit. —SLJ

THE LOST

A fast-paced, plot-driven page-turner for fans of darker mysteries. —Kirkus Reviews

A deeply disturbing tale that explores what can push someone to kill and what people will do to survive. —PW

YOU WILL BE MINE

Another nail-biting thriller…heart-stopping suspense. —RT Book Reviews

Keeps readers on edge…. Preston’s thriller vibe throughout is excellently sustained. A great addition to the thriller shelves. Recommended for fans of Stephen King, Jennifer Barnes, and Ally Carter. —SLJ

An homage to a nostalgic Fear Street novel…. An enjoyable blend of mystery and horror. —Booklist

A fresh take on a murder mystery thriller. Rich with plot twists and suspense, readers will not want to put it down. —VOYA’s Teen Perspectives

BOOKS BY NATASHA PRESTON

The Cellar

Awake

The Cabin

You Will Be Mine

The Lost

The Twin

The Lake

The Fear

These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Twin text copyright © 2020 by Natasha Preston

The Twin cover photograph copyright © 2020 by Marie Carr/Arcangel

The Lake text copyright © 2021 by Natasha Preston

The Lake cover art copyright © 2021 by Kristy Campbell/Arcangel Images

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

This work contains two previously published works, The Twin and The Lake. The Twin and The Lake were originally published separately and in paperback in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, in 2020 and 2021 respectively.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-593-57026-5 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-593-57030-2 (ebook)

Ebook ISBN 9780593570302

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Contents

Cover

Books by Natasha Preston

Title Page

Copyright

The Twin

The Lake

Contents

Cover

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Acknowledgments

For Jon and Rosa. Thank you for everything.

1

I dig the tips of my yellow-painted fingernails into the firm leather seat as Dad drives us home on the verge of breaking the speed limit. He’s anxious to get back, but I would rather he slowed down. My stomach dips, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes closed as he takes a sharp corner.

With my muscles locked into place, I raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Dad’s eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a tightness to them that’s unsettling. He’s a good driver, and I trust him with my life, but I’m not a fan of this speed.

The car, a black Mercedes, is immaculate and still smells brand-new a year on, so I’m surprised that he’s driving so fast on dusty country roads.

Everything is going to be different now, and he seems to be in a hurry to start our new life.

It’s not right. We need to slow down, savor the ease of what our lives used to be, because the new one waiting for us in just five minutes, I don’t want. Things weren’t perfect before, but I want my old life back.

The one where Mom was still alive.

It’s spring, her favorite season. Flowers have begun to brighten our town, turning the landscape from a dull green to a rainbow of color. It’s my favorite time of year, too, when the sun shows itself and the temperature warms enough so you don’t need a coat.

I’m always happier in spring. But right now, it might as well be winter again. I don’t feel my mood lifting, and I definitely don’t care that I’m not wearing a stupid coat.

My twin sister, Iris, is in the front passenger seat. She’s staring out the window, occasionally starting a short conversation. It’s more than I’ve done. There’s been nothing but silence from me. It’s not because I don’t care; it’s because I don’t know what to say. There are no words for what has happened.

Everything I think of seems dumb and insignificant. Nothing is big enough to fill the enormous void left by our mom.

The warm spring sun shines into the car, but it’s not strong enough to hurt my eyes. I don’t want to close them again anyway. Every time I do, I see her pale face. So pale she didn’t look real. Her once rosy cheeks gone forever. It was like staring at a life-size porcelain doll.

I wish I hadn’t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.

When I go back to school, I’ll be fine. I’ll swim and study until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Or I’ll want that to work, but I know it’s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.

We turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.

I swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-dry.

Dad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it’s a five-minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it’s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-paced. I need distractions and lots of them.

Iris gets out of the car first, her butt-length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She’s home with me and Dad forever now.

Our mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off. The bridge wasn’t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That’s what the police told us.

Mom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.

Her death is still impossible to process. I haven’t lived with my mom or Iris for six years, since she and Dad divorced, but her permanent absence weighs heavy in my stomach like lead.

When I was ten and our parents sat me and Iris down to explain they were separating, I had been relieved. It had been coming for a long time, and I was sick of hearing arguments while I pretended to sleep upstairs. The atmosphere was cold at best, our parents barely speaking but smiling as if I couldn’t see through the crap mask.

Iris and I have never had a conversation about it, but the separation was a surprise to her. She shouted and then she cried while I sat still, silently planning how I would tell them I wanted to live with Dad. It wasn’t an easy choice for anyone, but we had to make one. Dad and I had always been close; we share a lot in common, from movies and music to hobbies and food. He’s the one to give us clear guidelines, without which I would crumble. Mom was laid back, sometimes too much, and I would never get anything done.

Besides, Mom always wanted to live in the city, and I never liked how densely it’s populated.

Mom and Iris moved out; then they moved away to the city. I have spent school holidays flitting between houses, sometimes missing out on time with my twin thanks to conflicting schedules. She would be with Dad while I was with Mom.

None of our family members, friends, or even neighbors could understand it. You don’t separate twins. I get it—we’re supposed to be able to communicate without speaking and literally feel each other’s pain. But Iris and I have never been like that. We’re too different.

We’re not close, so although she’s my sister, it feels more like a distant cousin is moving in.

She still has her bedroom here, which she and Dad redecorated last year when she visited for the summer. But she’s brought a lot of stuff with her from Mom’s. The trunk is full of her things.

I watch her walk to the front door as Dad cuts the engine. She has a key to the house, of course, so she lets herself in.

Dad scratches the dark stubble on his chin. He usually shaves every morning. Are you okay, Ivy? You’ve barely said a word the entire time we’ve been on the road.

I’m fine, I reply, my voice low and gravelly.

Fine, the modern I’m not okay definition of the word, is what I mean here. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye. Two weeks is all it has taken to turn my world upside down. And what about Iris? She was closer to Mom than anyone. What right do I have to fall apart when she has lost even more than me?

You can talk about it. Whenever you want.

I know, Dad. Thanks.

His eyes slide to the house. Let’s go inside.

I take a long breath and stare at the front door.

I don’t want to go inside. When I go back in there, our new normal starts. I’m not ready to let go of the old just yet. Until I walk through that door, my twin isn’t living with us again because our mom has died.

That’s all total rubbish, obviously. Not walking through that door changes nothing, but I can pretend. I need longer.

Ivy? Dad prompts, watching me in the mirror with caution in his blue eyes, almost afraid to ask me if everything is okay again in case I crumble.

Can I go to Ty’s first? I won’t be long.

His brow creases. "We just got home…."

I’ll be back soon. I need a little time. It will give you an opportunity to check in with Iris too. She’s going to need you a lot, sometimes without me.

He opens his door. One hour.

I get out, my heart lighter knowing I have an extra sixty minutes, which I can stretch to seventy before he’ll call. Thanks, Dad.

Shutting the car door, I look back at the house.

What?

The hairs on my arms rise. Iris is watching me from the second-floor window.

But she’s not in her bedroom.

She’s in mine.

2

Tyler lives down the road, so I get there in under a minute and knock on the door.

He opens up and his leaf-green eyes widen. Ivy. Reaching out, he tugs me into the tightest hug. His arms wrap around my back, and I sink into him. Hey, he whispers. You okay?

Not really, I mutter against his Ramones T-shirt.

Come on. His arms loosen but he doesn’t let go completely, his fingers sliding between mine as he leads me inside. When did you get home?

A couple of minutes ago. I haven’t been in the house yet.

He eyes me curiously as we walk up to his bedroom, his head turning back every second step. Even though his parents are at work, he leaves the bedroom door open. Rule one. If we break it, we’ll never be allowed to spend time together without a chaperone.

Neither of us will break it.

I let go of his hand and collapse onto his bed. His pillow is so soft, and it smells like him. It’s comforting and everything I need right now.

The bed dips beside me as Ty sits down. Running his hand through his surfer style chestnut hair, he asks, Do you want to talk?

I press against the ache in my chest. I don’t know what to say.

I’m not your dad or sister, Ivy. I’m not looking for comforting words. You don’t need to pretend you’re okay for me. Tell me how you feel.

I roll from my side to my back so I can see him. I feel lost, and I feel stupid for being such a wreck.

Babe, your mom died. Why do you feel stupid?

Shrugging, I shake my head and swallow so I don’t cry. I don’t know. I’m supposed to be more together. Don’t I have a reputation for having a cold heart?

No, that means you don’t cry when whatever boy band breaks up, not that you’re made of stone and don’t cry for your mom.

I love that he doesn’t know the names of any relevant boy bands.

Iris has always been the emotional one. I’m the logical one. Unless something really affects my life, I’m not going to cry over it. What I rock at doing, though, is stressing and overthinking.

Iris hasn’t cried once that I know of, I tell him. And all I’ve done is cry. It’s like we’ve reversed roles. Dad and I arrived at their house eleven days ago, the day Mom died. Iris was like a robot. She got up, showered, dressed, and ate. She tidied and watched TV. Iris continued her routine as usual, but it was all in silence as if Dad and I weren’t there. She only started talking properly again this morning.

Everyone handles grief differently.

I look up at his ceiling. Everyone deals with all sorts of things differently; I just didn’t realize that Iris and I would walk through this totally out of character. We may look the same, besides her hair being about five inches longer, but we’re nothing alike. Now we’re swapping parts of our personality?

Sighing, I stare straight into his eyes and whisper, I don’t know how to help her. I barely know her anymore.

You can’t fix it. You only have to be there for her. There’s nothing anyone can do to accelerate the grief process; you have to let it happen.

I don’t like that at all. I like my control. If there’s a problem, I find a solution. I don’t handle it well when there’s nothing I can do.

He chuckles. You’ll learn how to do that, I promise.

Sighing, I blink rapidly as tears sting the backs of my eyes. My mom is gone.

I know, and I’m so sorry.

Get it together.

Mom asked me to visit for the weekend last month, I tell him.

Ivy, don’t do this.

I told her I couldn’t because I was spending the weekend at the pool to prepare for a swim meet I missed because she died.

Ivy, he groans. You had stuff to do, and it’s not like that’s never happened before.

I sigh into the sinking feeling in my gut. Logically, I understand that.

There’s no way you could have known what would happen, babe.

I’m not all that good at forgiving myself. Everyone else, sure, but not myself.

Ty shakes his head. You can’t live up to the standards you hold yourself to. No one’s perfect.

All right, I’ll give him that. But I constantly strive for perfect. The perfect grades, fastest swimmer, solid circle of friends, real relationships. I’m setting myself up to fail, I get that, and I would stop if I could.

"It feels like Iris is only back to visit. We haven’t lived together in six years."

His fingertips brush my blond hair. You’ll all adjust, I promise.

We will but we shouldn’t have to. Mom was too young to die. Iris and I are too young to be without her. I want things to go back to the way they were.

You don’t want Iris there? he asks softly.

No, that’s not it. Of course I want her with us. I wish she didn’t have to be, you know? So much has changed, and I’m not ready for any of it. Mom is supposed to be here. Who is going to take me prom dress shopping? She was going to scream when I graduate and totally embarrass me. Who will cry first when I try on wedding dresses or when I have a baby? There is so much that she’s going to miss. I don’t know how to do it all without her.

I have Dad, but all those things won’t be the same without Mom.

Ivy, he says, brushing his fingers across my face and down my cheek. She will be there for all of that and more.

Yeah, only she won’t. Not in the way I need.

Iris was in my room, I say, changing the subject before I lose the control I’ve only just regained after yesterday.

Okay…

She was watching me from my room when I left to come here.

Did you tell her you were going out?

No.

Maybe she was curious.

I bite my bottom lip. Maybe, but what was she doing in my room in the first place? Hers is right next to mine, so she could see me outside from her window too.

Hmm, I reply, not entirely sure where I’m going with this. I’ve been in her room, so it’s not a big deal. Yeah, maybe. It just seems weird.

Ty lies down beside me. It’s not weird for her to want to be close to you. There’s a lot of change for her, and she’s the one who’s had to move, leaving behind all of her friends.

I wince at his words. Yeah, I know.

Iris has lost so much, and if being around me and my stuff helps her even a little bit, then it’s fine with me. Oh God, and I’m here. She was in my room probably wanting to be close to me, and I left.

I left her!

My heart sinks to my stomach. I should go.

His hand freezes on my jaw. Already?

I have an hour, but… I’ve already been a terrible sister, no need to continue that.

He nods. You need to be home with your dad and Iris.

Thanks for understanding, Ty.

Well, this was brief, but worth it. We get off the bed and walk downstairs past the line of pictures showing Ty growing up. The last one is of us both, arms around each other smiling at the school Christmas dance.

Ty put things into perspective for me. I’ve been cooped up in a bubble of me, Dad, Iris, and Mom’s side of the family—I haven’t gotten enough distance to give myself any clarity.

I follow him out of the house, chewing my lip as I go. I’ve been so focused on me and how I feel that I haven’t really thought about Iris. Maybe we will grow closer, and that can be the one good thing to come out of this tragedy.

Call me if you need anything, he says, holding on to the edge of the front door.

I lean in and give him a quick kiss. I will. Thanks. Then I turn and run along the sidewalk all the way back to my house.

My feet hit the asphalt so hard it sends sparks of pain along my shins, but I don’t slow down. I pass our neighbors’ houses in a blur, their pruned hedges and rosebushes flashing by. Sucking in air that burns, I reach out and almost slam right into the front door. Bowing my head, I grip the door handle, my lungs screaming for the oxygen I’ve deprived them of during my sprint.

Dad? Iris? I call as I walk into the house.

In the kitchen, Dad replies.

I swing left and find Dad sitting alone at the table.

Where’s Iris? I ask, breathless.

Upstairs. She didn’t want to talk.

Oh. It was selfish of me to run off the second we pulled up. I’m going to check on her.

Dad nods. And I’ll start dinner. What do you want?

I shrug. This past eleven days have been nutrient free. We’ve grabbed whatever food we could manage, usually sandwiches and takeout. I feel hungry, but when food is placed in front of me, I can barely stomach a bite.

Anything, I reply, heading upstairs.

Iris must feel so lost. I don’t know if she’s had much contact with her friends, but I do know I haven’t seen her on her phone at all. She needs them now, probably more than she needs me and Dad.

I climb the stairs, tying my long wavy hair in a knot on top of my head, and knock on her door. Iris, it’s me. Can I come in?

Sure, she replies.

Okay, I was expecting some resistance.

I open the door and offer a small smile as I head into the room. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, doing nothing. Her long hair fans around her body like a cloak.

Dumb question, but…how do you feel? I ask.

She shrugs one shoulder. I’m not sure there’s a word for it. Her eyes are sunken, ringed with dark circles that make her look a lot older than she is. I don’t think she’s sleeping well either.

We have the same shade of dark blond hair and the same pale blue eyes.

Well, do you need anything? Besides the obvious.

I’m good.

Raising my eyebrows, I move deeper into her room. Are you?

She meets my gaze. "Are you?"

No, I’m not. I wring my hands. We can talk…if you want?

We don’t talk, not about real, deep stuff, anyway. She has her friends for that, and I have mine. It’s actually kind of sad how we’ve missed out on that close twin bond. It’s the only thing I regret about staying with Dad when Iris moved away with Mom.

She tilts her head. Can we talk?

Well, I know that’s not usually our thing, but it can be. I mean, I’m willing…and we are twins.

We shared a womb, share a birthday and DNA, but I’ve never felt like a twin. We never talk.

Okay, ouch. We used to talk when we were little. I remember being five and sneaking into each other’s room at night. We didn’t share because we were too different—her room candy pink and mine ocean blue. But it didn’t matter after dark; we would make a den out of blankets, grab our flashlights, and talk about random fairy-tale things our imaginations would conjure.

Iris was going to marry a British prince and eventually become queen, and I was going to travel the world in an old Mustang like the one our grandad used to own.

Somewhere over time and our parents’ separation, our silly dreams died, and we stopped sharing any new ones.

Do you want to talk, Iris?

Her haunted eyes look right through me. I want so much more than that.

3

Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours. The silence stretches, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

This shouldn’t be so awkward.

What do you mean you want so much more than that?

What more is there to have if we’re talking?

She finally moves and shuffles back on the bed until her back hits the wall. Clearing her throat, she says, "Obviously I mean I want to be sisters. Properly. We’ve never stopped being twins, but we stopped being friends."

I blink twice before I reply. I want that too. I don’t enjoy feeling like I only have a sibling during school holidays. Iris and I need to stick together. We might be worlds apart, but we have both lost the same mom.

She gives me a fleeting smile. Maybe you should sit down then.

Okay. I let go of my hands and sit on her bed. But that’s about as far as I know where to go with this. Words still evade me. Or the right ones do, anyway. I could have a thousand different conversations about shows on Netflix, books, and swimming. I’m not sure any of that is going to help me right now.

Will you tell me about school and your friends? I assume I’ll be enrolling.

Oh. Yeah, okay. Of course she’s going to have to enroll at my high school. I didn’t think of that, but she can’t go to her old one; it’s over an hour away. So, you’ve met Haley and Sophie. I trust those girls with my life.

Iris smiles. I remember Haley and Sophie from last summer. They seemed nice.

They are. We met when we joined the swim team as freshmen and have been besties ever since.

Do you think they’ll mind me hanging around with you?

You’re my sister. Of course they won’t mind.

Thanks, Ivy. What about your boyfriend?

Ty. You’ll get along with him too.

Don’t worry, I won’t make myself a third wheel. It would just be nice to spend time with you. I…I don’t want to be alone right now.

I shake my head. I’m not worried about that, Iris. You can hang with me whenever you want. Since the first day of high school, Haley, Sophie, and I have been inseparable. I don’t mind adding a fourth to our group, and I don’t think they would either. Iris will probably make her own friends fast enough anyway; she’s a cheerleader, not a swimmer like me and my friends. We have a cheerleading squad that I’m sure Iris can get on. Ty plays football, so he’ll be able to introduce her to the team and hopefully make it easier for her to join. That’s if she wants to continue cheerleading.

Is there anyone I need to look out for at school? Like, the mean girls?

I turn my nose up. Ellie, cheer captain, so many blond highlights I’m surprised her hair hasn’t fallen out, can be a bit snobby, but she’s harmless.

Why does she want to talk about people at school and not Mom? I understand that she wants to make the transition as smooth as possible—there is no getting away from this situation—but we’ve only been home for twenty minutes.

Iris, you do know that everything will be fine, don’t you?

She presses her lips together and looks away.

You can tell me how you’re feeling. You’re not going through this alone.

Iris doesn’t move an inch; her body is so still I move closer to see if she’s still breathing. Her chest rises.

I miss her, I say. I don’t see her for weeks, sometimes months, but I already miss her so much, I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it.

Ivy, she whispers, her voice calm and cold. Can we not do this right now, please?

I take a breath, closing my eyes. Sure, okay.

I’m sorry. If you want to talk about her, talk to Dad.

Dad’s a good listener. But he can’t understand the way Iris can.

I open my eyes and give her a smile. Whenever you’re ready.

Her pale eyes watch me closely, like we’re playing chess and she’s planning her next move. She’s pretty unreadable to me. We haven’t spent nearly enough time together over the last six years for me to know what all her expressions mean.

Thank you, Ivy, she replies a little too formally to be sincere.

Back up, she needs time. I’ll leave you to it, then, I say.

Iris doesn’t move or respond, so I get up. Okay, I’ll go. Turning around, I walk out of her room and pull the door shut.

What just happened there?

Ivy, Iris, Dad shouts. Pizza will be here soon.

Okay, Dad, I reply, running down the stairs.

I’m worried about her, I tell him.

He looks over his shoulder as he gets plates from the cupboard. Iris?

Duh. Yeah, she’s acting strange.

Ivy…

No, I get how that sounds, and I know what’s going on. But she was more interested in talking about school and my friends. She’s talking about fitting in and having a new life here. Don’t you think that’s too soon?

He shrugs. This is new for all of us, Ivy. If that’s what helps her at the minute, can it be bad?

"Yes! Maybe. I can’t imagine going back to school yet, let alone a new school." Though I don’t have much choice. College scouts need to see me at my best. I have to get back in the pool if I want to go to Stanford. Dad can’t afford to send me there, so I need a scholarship. To be perfect in the pool, I can’t afford any more time off.

He tilts his head. Honey, don’t overthink this. We’re all doing the best we can. Let her cope in her way.

By pretending?

If that’s what she needs, I think we can give her a little more time. Why is this bothering you so much? It’s very early days.

I shrug. I guess I thought we could talk about it, you know? We’re going through the same thing. I need to talk about Mom. I need more than the few weeks each year I spent with her.

You’re trying to fix this, he says. "You see everything so black-and-white. I love that you have always been good at solving problems, sometimes before they even become problems, but there is no quick fix here. You can’t do anything for Iris until she wants you to, so please focus on what you need. Do you want me to arrange grief counseling? I think it would be a good idea for you."

For me. Not for me and Iris. He’s worried that I’ll try and fix my grief too fast and make things worse. There’s a rush with me because I hate when my life is off balance. Iris isn’t ready to start at all.

Yes, I reply. I’m all for talking through your issues, but I don’t think a chat with Ty or my friends is going to work here. Therapy with a trained professional is the solution, so I want to do it. The sooner I can stop feeling like I’m treading water, the better.

There is no fast-track with grief, though, Ivy, Dad says, reading my intention.

That’s not true. Anything can be accelerated if done properly. I want to remember Mom without the heavy sadness and bitter anger. It’s not fair that she’s gone.

That’s not what I’m doing, I lie.

He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t get time to say so because the doorbell rings.

Saved by pizza.

4

In the end, no one ate much of the two large pizzas Dad ordered. I think he had about four slices—nowhere near his record—while Iris and I picked at one each.

I’m disappointed in myself, because I can eat pizza, but my stomach rejected every bite. When Iris and I were younger, we would eat two slices each, then have two for breakfast. We must have been four or so and thought we were cool. We’d eat a whole pizza between us, and the fact that it was over two days didn’t take away from our amazement that we were so little and could do it.

Eating seems like such an odd thing to do when your world has been rocked. The same as other mundane things like household chores. It’s all so pointless. I want to go to the therapist now, at ten-thirty at night, so I can get this over with and have things resemble some sort of normal again.

I’m in the bathroom, looking at my exhausted reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me are dull blue eyes. I don’t remember the last time I got more than five hours of solid sleep, and it’s been worse since Mom died. My mind doesn’t shut off easily; I’m constantly thinking of things I need to do. I can usually tone it down if I train in the pool a couple extra times in the week or go for a long run.

Swimming is my first love. When I’m in the pool, I’m free. There is nothing but me and the water.

If there was a pool open now, I would go. Actually, going back to school is looking like a good idea, just for the access to the pool. But Dad wants me to take the rest of the week off and return when he enrolls Iris. I wanted that, too, but the thought of spending the next five days indoors, pretending things aren’t as bad as they are and talking about friends, is suffocating.

I run my hands over my face. A few more days…you can make it.

Leaving the bathroom, I cross the hall. Iris must still be awake; I can hear movement from her room. There’s no point in trying to talk to her again. Dad is right—she has to be ready to deal with Mom’s death.

Night, I say over my shoulder to Iris as I open my door.

Something in her room falls to the floor with a heavy thud. Night, Ivy! she replies.

Frowning, I turn toward her room. You okay?

Just dropped a book.

I grip my door handle. I don’t think she’s willingly read a book since we were five. Unless that’s another change in her.

Does she even have books here? I haven’t noticed any, but I don’t exactly take inventory of her room.

The noise was loud, though. What are her books made from, stone?

What is she doing in there, and why did it sound like a lie when she told me she dropped a book? I mean, unless she dropped it from the ceiling.

Okay, I say, and close myself in my room.

Nerves flutter in my stomach. I push my palm into the center of my belly and wince. I don’t enjoy feeling like something is majorly off, besides the obvious, and I don’t know what it could be.

I don’t trust my instincts right now, because I could well be feeling anxious over this being a situation that I have no control over.

Okay, you seriously need to sleep.

Shaking away as many of the swirling thoughts as I can, I climb into bed. This is the part where I lie awake for ages, my mind spinning with a million thoughts, each one of them fighting for time. It’s where I make plans to silence the thoughts and worries, one by one.

I curl onto my side and tug my quilt up to my chin.

My eyes flit closed, and Mom’s face enters my mind. She’s been a prominent thought since she died, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can usually work through a problem in my head until it’s solved and then move on to the next. Mom is a sticking point. I would do anything to have her back, but that can never happen. We’re not in some fantasy novel.

Every night, I see her and think about her until I want to scream because I miss her so much.

I roll onto my stomach as if a change in position will make everything fall out of my head so I can sleep.

Next door, Iris moves around her room. Her footsteps aren’t as light as she’s trying to make them. If she’s even trying to be quiet. Something scrapes across the carpet. It’s almost eleven at night. Who rearranges furniture this late?

Unless she’s taken up yoga.

But who does that after they’ve gone to bed? Maybe she does sleep yoga. Okay, I’m ridiculous.

I wish I could get some sleep. My thoughts would be much more rational.

Another thump hits my wall from her side.

For real? I already have countless thoughts that prevent me from falling asleep quickly as it is. I don’t need Iris doing…whatever it is she’s doing keeping me up too.

I don’t want to get out of bed because I just got comfortable, so I pick up my phone and text Iris.

Everything okay?

She takes a minute to reply.

Fine. Why?

Oh, playing it like that, are we?

The banging?

Sorry, just organizing some things. I’ll be quiet now

Organizing what at this hour? She’s not starting school yet; there will be plenty of time to make changes to her room.

Do you need help?

Yeah, I’m being polite. It’ll be so annoying if she accepts my offer.

No, thanks. I’m kind of private about my room and my things.

I relax my muscles and sigh. Good, I’m glad that I don’t have to move. My body pulses with the ache of the day and sitting in some awkward position earlier.

Okay. Night.

I love how she’s private and her room is off-limits but she has no issue walking into my space. Double standards much?

Putting my phone back on my nightstand, I close my eyes and wait.

Outside, the patter of rain slowly hits my window. It’s soothing, the constant yet intermittent taps against the glass. The rain is always the best thing to take my mind off…well, my mind. I’ve tried listening to rain forest noises, but it does nothing for me.

I focus on the rain and breathe deeply until I eventually fall asleep.

5

Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn. It’s early—6:05. The rain helped me fall asleep, but I woke up at 3:30 and was drifting in and out for the rest of the night—or morning. Whatever.

I’m tired. Fortunately, I’m used to being tired.

Mom kept popping back in my head in the early hours, consuming every thought. Some of them were facts; some took on a fictional route and ran with it. I know how she died, so why did my mind keep conjuring thoughts and images of her being hit or being drowned? Why did I think about her recovering from the fall and running away? That one was the cruelest, because there is no chance of her coming home. She didn’t recover; I’ve seen her lifeless body. Which, in hindsight, isn’t smart for someone with an overactive imagination.

She would never leave us by choice. Nothing could scare her away from her family.

So I tossed and turned for that whole time, worrying that I’ll never get Mom out of my head. I don’t want to picture her lying on the ground bleeding. Or whatever else I dream up.

The grief process needs to begin now; maybe then I’ll get some peace. Or at the very least, I’ll stop seeing my mom dead in different scenarios. I’ll take that.

My feet hit the carpet as I swing out of bed. I curl my toes, feeling the thick pile under my bare feet.

I practically drag my heavy legs downstairs in search of caffeine.

The house is still and quiet. At this hour it always appears empty, like no one is living here at all. Dad and I don’t have much stuff, so the house is a little on the bare side since Mom took all the house bling, as she called it.

I walk into the kitchen and raise my hand for the light switch.

Morning, Iris says.

Her chipper voice makes me jump. I flick the light on as my heart races, and Iris smiles. The blinds are shut, so it’s still pretty dark.

She laughs. I didn’t mean to scare you.

What are you doing here? I ask, taking a breath.

I live here now, Ivy.

God, my heart is still thumping. No, I mean, in the kitchen. Sitting in the dark.

I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.

But why are you sitting in the dark?

I like it.

She likes sitting alone in the dark in total silence.

Uh, okay. Do you want coffee? I ask.

Folding her arms, she rests them on the counter and watches me. Please. It’s nice to have someone make the coffee for me. Mom sometimes did it before she went for a run.

Ugh, I love running, but I couldn’t do it every day.

Yeah, you and Mom probably had more in common than she and I did. You both like to exercise.

You cheer, I say, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard as the coffee brews.

I did. Now I’m not going to be doing anything.

I look over my shoulder. What a bleak view. Why do you say that?

Dad doesn’t want me to start school for another two weeks. She rolls her eyes. Yet you can go back in four days. How is that fair?

He’s worried about you, Iris. You’re not only dealing with Mom’s death, but you’ve also had to move away from everything you’ve known for the last six years. I’m going back to a school I know. You’re going to be the new girl.

I’m aware, but I’m not made of glass. I can handle a new school. Besides, it’s not like this place is all new to me. I did live here once. In this very house.

She has a point. Iris was always the confident one, the kid who played outside. Mom would sit in front and watch her play with a couple of the neighbor’s children. Shame that they moved away years ago, because Iris could probably do with seeing a familiar face—one that isn’t exactly the same as hers.

Talk to Dad. He’s always been a good listener. If you’re ready to start earlier, he’ll let you.

At least, I think he will. He’s nowhere near as laid back as Mom was, but he’s still not great at denying his daughters something they want.

Her pale eyes gloss over like she’s no longer listening, or she doesn’t believe me. She taps a manicured fingernail on the marble countertop.

The coffeemaker stops and I put a mug down in front of her. I take the next stool, joining her in sitting.

How are you feeling? I ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lips purse. She’s uncomfortable when I talk about Mom or ask how she’s doing. It’s been the same since Mom died. Iris has closed that part of her life completely.

Fine. You? she replies in a sharp tone.

She doesn’t want to talk, and she doesn’t want me to talk. Yeah, I’m good. I’m going to call a therapist today. Have you thought about talking to someone?

Nope. But good for you.

Okay, I reply, wrapping my hands lightly around the hot mug. What do you want to do today?

I want to go out. No offense, but this house is kind of depressing. Now that I’m living here full-time, we need to decorate.

Go for it. Iris has good taste; she decorated Mom’s house with her. It doesn’t bother me if she wants to hang art or scatter throw cushions on the sofas. Dad is a major minimalist and he loves his gadgets, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving the house a little more personality.

What are you girls doing up so early?

Iris and I look to the doorway, where Dad is standing. His arms are folded like he’s ready to give us the third degree. He’s suspicious, but I don’t know why.

We couldn’t sleep, I tell him.

You’re huddled together like when you were little and wanted something. Power in numbers?

Iris laughs and flicks her hair over her shoulder. We don’t want anything, Dad.

Maybe not right now. What do you want to eat?

Do you have Pop-Tarts? Iris asks. I haven’t had those in years.

I sigh. I can’t go a week without having them.

Iris raises her eyebrows. You got the better metabolism. I have to eat perfectly for this. She gestures down her body with her hand.

I don’t think there’s any difference in size. We both keep active, but Iris puts a lot more pressure on herself.

Neither of you needs to change a thing, Dad says. He’s very diplomatic. I’ll get the Pop-Tarts.

There’s coffee in the pot, Dad, I tell him. So, I’d like to make an appointment with that therapist today. You still have the number, right?

Dad slowly turns around. Of course. I’ll give Dr. Rajan a call. She comes highly recommended. Iris?

Iris looks up and blinks slowly. Yes, Dad? she asks as if she doesn’t know where he’s going.

Would you like me to make you an appointment too? It doesn’t have to be the same therapist.

No, thanks. She smiles tightly, her eyes dropping back to her coffee mug.

6

I don’t know what it says about a therapist when they can see you immediately. Or, more to the point, what it says about me when she wants to see me immediately.

Either way, I’m in my bedroom getting dressed because Dr. Rajan managed to squeeze me in this morning.

Does Dad know that I haven’t slept as well since Mom died, so he begged her for an emergency appointment? That would be incredibly embarrassing.

It was Dad who answered her questions; he was on his phone with her for ages. In his office, of course, so I don’t know what he said. All I know is that he came back after speaking to her at nine and I have an hour to get to my appointment.

I’m overthinking. She probably had a cancellation. I have taken plenty of appointments for my hair last-minute because someone canceled.

I zip my skinny jeans and tug a dark gray tank top over my head. I have Ty’s hoodie in case it gets cooler. Actually, I have a lot of Ty’s hoodies here. Also, now my hoodies. The sun has scorched away any sign of last night’s rain, though, so I think it’s going to be hot.

My phone rings and Ty’s name flashes on the screen. I texted him about three minutes ago to tell him I’m off to have my head examined.

My session with Dr. Rajan is predominately about bereavement, but I’m not naïve enough to think that’s where it’s going to end. Not when I have a twin who moved home. I think she’s going to say things and ask questions that go way beyond my mom’s death. Maybe lots of them are connected. Maybe I’m overthinking. Again.

If I could get an off switch for my