The next day was a holiday, a make-up day for the school festival. Ciel said she had morning practice and left for school early. Océan suggested we go see a movie, so we stepped outside just before noon. It took about an hour by bus, with a transfer, to get from the bus stop near my friend’s house to the cinema on the Champs-élysées.

  Among the passengers on the bus were people in suits, parents with children, and high school students around our age. The vehicle buzzed with quiet chatter and the occasional ugh. Here and there, I spotted a group of women who looked like tourists, clutching pamphlets and maps, while an elderly dy banced a paper bag brimming with grapefruits on her p. The mix of faces, ages, and little details of everyday life made the ride feel distinctly Parisian.

  As we swayed along on the bus, Océan, sitting by the window, finally spoke.

  “Ciel often rents horror DVDs, but her taste is terrible. I never find them interesting at all, but she insists there’s something wrong with my sense of things.”

  “You two get along pretty well, don’t you?” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess so. And even though I’m the older sister, I have to admit—she’s a good kid. Always thinking about me. She should probably think about herself a little more, though.”

  “I really admire sisters who can care for each other like that. I wish I could have had a normal retionship with Roman.”

  “Normal… what does that even mean?”

  Océan murmured, gazing out the window.

  “I don’t know… But if the two of us had been like you and your sister, maybe my heart wouldn’t have gotten so tangled up all the time.”

  “That would be hard too. Having someone so close, yet carrying impossible feelings all the time…”

  “Yes… But I’d gotten used to it. Used to these feelings, used to troubling my sister. Still, I knew deep down this couldn’t go on forever.”

  If only I could fall for someone else—it would be so much easier. That thought crossed my mind again and again.

  “I wish I could take my sister’s pce,” Océan said, her voice ringing hollow in my ears.

  When the bus arrived at the cinema, we bought popcorn and co at the concession stand, grabbed our tickets, and took our seats.

  The movie Océan and I watched was Bloodstained Dress, just released yesterday—a horror film about a murderer wielding an ice pick appearing at a wedding hall. I was completely absorbed in the screen the entire time, but Océan had dozed off within the first ten minutes.

  Once we left the cinema, despite having watched only ten minutes, Océan proceeded to harshly criticize the film.

  “I’m confident I could make a better movie than that. First of all, the weapon is an ice pick—pathetic. In The Last Summer, the fisherman had a hook, and Jason has a chainsaw.”

  “I thought it was fun. I think the ice pick was pretty effective,” I said.

  “That’s just how editing and direction work. You and Ciel might get along, though—she likes that kind of B-movie too.”

  As she continued to shove handfuls of leftover popcorn into her mouth from the big cup, he rattled off a long list of boring films he’d watched and critiqued—films I had actually enjoyed. The gap between our tastes in movies felt hopelessly wide.

  We then entered a fast-food pce called Burger Bird, right next to the cinema. When the cashier came up to take our order, Océan was the first to speak. Standing there, smiling, was Tiffany, one of our cssmates.

  “You work here?” Océan asked, surprised.

  “Yes. Didn’t I tell you?” Tiffany replied, wearing a yellow cap and a uniform of the same color.

  “I didn’t know. So… do I get a cssmates’ discount?”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that,” she said, shrugging pyfully.

  I didn’t join their conversation and instead looked at the menu board beside the register. Tiffany had sleek dark skin with hints of Arab heritage, long chestnut hair tied back, and sharp, striking features. Her voice carried easily, and she always hung around girls of a simir, high-status clique. When I had been cast as Catherine for the school festival, Tiffany and her friends had huddled on the balcony, whispering behind my back. I was used to this kind of behavior by now, but my unease around Tiffany remained absolute.

  Océan ordered co, fries, and a bacon-and-bleu-cheese burger. I got a strawberry shake and a chicken wrap with Samurai sauce.

  Within five minutes, our food was brought to the table. Tiffany left with a smile and a pyful, “Enjoy your date!” Océan snorted, wiped his hands with a napkin, and grabbed his burger.

  “You even ordered the same things as Ciel. You two might actually become good friends,” he said, gncing at my food before taking a hearty bite.

  Truthfully, I had thought the same thing yesterday. Maybe it was because Ciel was Océan’s twin, but meeting her didn’t feel unfamiliar. Somehow, I could talk to her more naturally than I ever could in front of Océan.

  On our first meeting, Ciel had said something shocking so casually I couldn’t even think of a reply:

  “She told me I’m a Wuthering Heights geek.”

  Océan choked slightly on his co.

  “Fair enough. You get all worked up and talk fast whenever you discuss Wuthering Heights.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm, taking a sip of the sweet, tangy strawberry shake.

  “Ciel looks all feminine, but she’s got a really straightforward, almost boyish personality. Sometimes I envy her for that. Though, she’s stubborn in her own way.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  From what I had seen yesterday, her tone and expressions suggested a quiet strength, though her stubborn streak hadn’t been obvious. Both Ciel and Océan seemed entirely free from the kind of shallow cruelty I’d seen from half the girls in our css—the smiles that hide gossip and the whispers behind someone’s back. When I was cast as the lead in the school festival py, a few girls had made snide remarks in the restroom. Océan had shown up at just the right time and defended me. Though blunt in speech, his heart was kind.

  Océan’s rough exterior and kind nature made her popur. The more gentle she was toward me, the more the other girls’ eyes turned sour. I had grown used to that, though.

  Being of British descent, I had always stood out, for better or worse. My mother’s red hair, short and fiery, and my father’s sharp eyes made me conspicuous. I had endured being targeted, mocked, and ignored. Girls would hide my notebooks, scribble on my books, and exaggerate my speech and gestures to ridicule me. I cried at first but gradually grew used to it.

  From those experiences, I concluded that people and the world were small in their thinking. I had survived without asking for anyone’s help—through childhood, through the torment, and even through my feelings for Roman. I had thought that was enough. Surely, no one could understand me. Only recently had I realized that thought was wrong.