Eight Years Earlier Junior Year
Eight Years Earlier
Junior Year
Professor Cruz asked her to lunch after two weeks of staring each other down.
Abby didn’t doubt she was the worst student in her class, hadn’t wanted to take it in the first place, but they’d been hurtling toward this encounter since she arrived at Insley University.
Longer than that. They’d been building toward this meeting her entire life.
That first day, Abby had arrived late and slipped into a desk at the top of the slanted rows, maintaining as much space as possible.
“And we’ll take a deeper dive into the varying levels of scrutiny applied to the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments, so that by test time, you’re able to apply those to hypothetical…”
Professor Cruz trailed as her eyes landed on Abby. Despite the distance separating them and never having met before, the exchange radiated reunion rather than discovery. The pause dragged so long that a student in front spoke up.
“Professor, are you okay?”
A few students shifted to find what distracted her. Their beady eyes made Abby squirm, but she didn’t dare look away first.
“Right. What was I saying?” The professor pivoted from her audience and fiddled with the clicker to jump ahead a few slides on the projector. “Right, let’s start with strict scrutiny.”
After class, Abby scrambled to the exit, not prepared for anything beyond a shared stare.
The professor didn’t seem to be either, as no new text messages came.
It almost prompted Abby to drop the class altogether, but curiosity won out.
For the next few weeks, while everyone else studied Gender and the Law, Abby studied Isla Cruz.
She analyzed the way she gestured, the way she paced, and the way she spoke.
Abby thought they might look alike, but it was hard to know for sure.
She’d only seen photos before. Isla’s hair was more chocolate than Abby’s black waves, her skin lighter but warm.
She was slender, where Abby was wide hipped and broad shouldered, taller, muscles teeming on her frame despite six months of disuse.
For those first few weeks, at the end of every class, Abby disappeared, putting a safe distance between them. Until one day Isla followed her into the hall.
“Hey, Abby, can you wait a minute?”
She shut her eyes as students streamed past on either side of her. She considered merging in and pretending she hadn’t heard her, but they couldn’t play strangers forever.
Abby turned. “Hey.”
Isla’s eyes scaled her up and down. Abby might’ve found it off-putting if she wasn’t doing the same.
“Do you want to get lunch?”
Rather than converge at one of the campus dining halls, they went into town.
Insley University lay just outside of Hood River, a community of fewer than ten thousand, its heart a medley of small restaurants, mom-and-pop shops, and breweries.
Tourists flocked for hikes and windsurfing, panoramic views of the river and mountains, wineries hidden in sprawling orchards among the hills.
They met at a bar called Sunny’s. Insley sports memorabilia adorned the walls, beer residue stuck to the floorboards, and students lounged on the wraparound patio.
When the waiter took their order, Isla asked for an iced tea while Abby ordered a double vodka soda.
The professor’s brow furrowed as Abby produced her fake ID.
“How are you liking Insley?” she asked when the server left.
“It’s fine.”
“Sorry about the situation with your classes,” Isla said.
“I worked with the academic advisors. There weren’t a lot of spots left, and I figured I could open an extra place in my class.
That way you can at least get some upper-level credits to start.
I know pre-law isn’t exactly for everyone.
Or maybe it is. I didn’t even ask what your major is.
At least, I didn’t notice one on your transcript.
Not that it’s a problem if you don’t have one yet.
Do you know what you want to do after you graduate? ”
Their drinks arrived, a well-timed disruption to Isla’s ramble, especially since Abby didn’t have an answer to that dreaded question.
“Sorry, I’m talking too much.” Isla’s cheeks flamed. “This is just kind of weird.”
Rather than find her annoying, Abby took pity. Maybe because she noticed their sameness. Her eyes, wide set and vibrant copper, peered out as if from a mirror. Her mouth was the same too, plump lips, the lower barely fuller than the top.
“Yeah,” Abby said. “Yeah, it’s definitely fucking weird.”
“And you’re doing okay? You’re settled in at the apartment? Do you need help with furniture or money?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Why?”
Isla canted her head and extended a half smile. “Because you’re my sister.”
A younger Abby had fantasized of such a declaration.
She’d first sought Isla after a few deep searches on the internet.
Isla was away at college when eleven-year-old Abby called her house and Isla’s mother promptly hung up on her.
When Abby’s mom caught wind of the bold attempt to track down her long-lost half-sibling, she took her phone and computer privileges away for a month.
She got her second chance during high school when Isla friended her online.
They didn’t exchange messages. It was a silent lifeline.
A chance to peek into each other’s worlds.
A peek that would’ve satisfied Abby’s curiosity, just enough acknowledgment to bandage the wound of not knowing all of oneself.
This, sitting across from each other, was never supposed to happen.
“I’m sorry for everything you’re going through.” Isla’s eyes glassed over, and Abby tore hers away. “Like I said, if you want to stay with me instead, I have room.”
“No, I think that’s too much.” Abby traced the condensation on her glass. “But thank you. You’ve done enough already. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden. We’re family.”
“We share the same asshole father and a last name. I don’t know if that’s family. Plus, I’m twenty. I don’t need another parent.”
“Right.” Isla nodded. “But can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She sighed. Summer had a late choke hold on September and the heat worsened Abby’s hangover. She fingered the cigarettes in her pocket, debating if it would be rude to light one.
“Did he ever call you?” Isla asked.
Abby finished her drink. “No.”
She lied. Her father, not that she made a habit of calling him that, called periodically over the years.
A few birthdays. A few holidays. All dependent on his sobriety, who he was dating, where he was living, if it was a high year or a low.
There wasn’t a formula to it, though she tried to find one in the beginning.
By her teens, she caught on to his bullshit and hung up whenever he called.
When he rang six months ago, she didn’t dial him back.
“What about you? Do you talk to him?”
“Occasionally,” Isla said, averting her gaze.
“Well, you knew him longer and better than I did.”
Isla scoffed. The scoff sounded like Abby’s, and it made her smirk. “I’m not sure if that’s true. And even if it is, I’m not sure it’s a good thing.” Isla stopped to flutter her thick lashes at their server. “Can we get two shots of tequila?”
Abby’s mouth fell open as he darted off. “Wow, Professor.”
“I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to do this sober.” Isla cocked a brow at her. “That’s a nice fake by the way.”
“Relax, I’m basically twenty-one.”
“As an employee of the university, I’ll pretend that’s true.”
When the shots arrived, they each shook out a pinch of salt, clutched limes, and held up their drinks.
“To long-lost sisters and second chances,” Isla said.
Abby clinked her glass despite the toast ringing more sentimentally than she liked. They hissed through the liquor, their grimaces identical. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to seeing her reactions reflected on a stranger.
“Listen, I know you don’t need another parent or something,” Isla said. “And trust me, I’m not trying to be that. I hardly have my life together, to be honest.”
“Really? You seem like super put together.”
Isla’s flawless curls, her ironed slacks and stilettos, jewelry, manicure, and makeup suggested a meticulous existence.
“Maybe on the outside. But our dad, or lack thereof, did a number on me. I don’t know about your mom, but mine wasn’t exactly parent of the year,” she said. Abby’s mouth unintentionally crumpled, and Isla winced. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Honestly, it’s kind of nice to know you’ve been through the same shit.”
Isla frowned. “When I say I’m here, I mean as a friend. And if you need to call someone for something, anything, I hope you’ll consider me.”
“I will.” Abby worked her answer past a tearful swallow. To her relief, she spotted their server across the way and subtly nodded at him for another round.
“Are you going to play this season?” Isla asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You should.”
Abby bit her lip. She’d put the game out of her mind for months, avoided it like she avoided everything else that once instilled joy but now fell flat. “I’m not sure I want to or if the team will even want me.”
“Coach Whitley would be thrilled. I’ve already talked to her about you.”
She sighed. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Why do you care?”
Isla shook her head, blinked and shifted as if embarrassed. “I don’t. I was just trying to be helpful. But forget it. Only do it if you want.”
Two more shots arrived, and this time Abby raised her glass to Isla’s. “To our asshole dad, our messed-up mothers, and not having our shit together.”