Chapter 16
Sixteen
THEN | SISK
This is a very stupid thing to do, but it’s necessary. I hover by the lockers, pretending to dig through my bag, counting breaths, watching Becca laugh with two girls whose names I don’t know and one guy who definitely thinks he’s funny.
She’s so sure of herself with her perfectly curled hair and lip gloss shining when she smiles at the guy, making sure to touch his arm when she does.
I have spoken to her exactly three times in all these years.
All of them accidental, and I would prefer to keep things the way they are but I need her. I need the door she can open.
“Hey, Becca,” I say, standing up too fast. “Ready for… whatever Mrs. Klein is calling that group project?”
She blinks at me. “—Hi?” she says confused and a little rude. “Do I… know you?”
One of the girls glances at the other and smiles.
I force a smile of my own. “Sisk. I sit near the window.”
“Oh.” Becca’s face lights with recognition. “Right. The dancer.”
There it is. The label.
“Yeah.”
She looks me over like she’s deciding whether I belong in the same room as her reflection. Then she grins. “Okay, hi,” she says, drawing the word out. “Did you need something?”
I swallow. This is the moment where normal people would lie casually. Where they’d slip in sideways. I don’t do sideways. “I heard you’re going to the lot tonight,” I say. “Near The Pit.”
“Everyone’s going,” the guy says. He’s all broad shoulders, built for a game no one in this city really cares about anymore. “It’s, like, tradition.”
Becca tilts her head. “You’ve never been?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Wow,” she says, like I just told her I’ve never seen the ocean—which I haven’t. “That’s kind of tragic.”
I laugh a bit. “I know,” I say. “I thought maybe I should go, you know, before graduation.”
“Well,” she says, looping an arm through mine like we’re friends, “we can’t let you graduate without seeing Tar City at its finest.”
One of the girls giggles. “Becca loooves a project.”
Becca ignores her. “You’re coming with us,” she says, decisive. “Meet behind the old gym at sunset. We’ll take the train together. Wear black. Seniors always do.”
I nod too fast. “Okay.”
She squeezes my arm. Not unkind. Not kind either. “You’re going to love it,” she says. “It’s insane.”
Insane. She says it like that’s a selling point.
The bell rings and the group disperses. Becca tosses her hair and calls over her shoulder, “Don’t be late, ballerina.”
Being invited—even like this—feels better than sitting alone in my room wondering if I got in the academy, or worse, wondering if Jax is thinking about me.
“Sisk, wait up.”
I hear Ivan’s voice down the hall just as I’m shoving my notebook into my bag. He jogs to catch up, breathless in a way that doesn’t match the short distance.
“Hey,” I say, turning.
I haven’t seen him much lately. The day after we got stuck in that tunnel, he and Jax got into it. After that, Ivan vanished for a few days. The next thing I knew, he was standing at the audition like I had invited him. And now… I can tell something’s off with him.
He keeps pressing two fingers to his left ear, like he’s trying to force something back inside. His glasses sit crooked on his face and there’s a faint gray shadow under his eyes. Maybe he’s sick.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—” He stops himself and swallows. “Can you come over after school? To my place. I found something about the tar, I think it’s important.” His words spill fast, tumbling over each other like he’s afraid if he pauses, I’ll disappear.
“I’m sorry, Ivan,” I say. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get ready.”
He frowns. “Get ready for what?”
I hesitate and his face changes immediately.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to the lot,” he says.
I nod.
He exhales through his nose. “You’re kidding.”
“Everyone’s going,” I say, defensive before I mean to be. “It’s not a big deal. Do you want to come?”
“No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid,” he snaps. “Because it’s dangerous. I thought you were—” He stops himself. “I thought you were better than that.”
The words sting and I’m not even sure why.
“Do you know what they dare people to do there?” he asks quietly. “With the tar?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“That’s not funny,” he says. His voice shakes now, just a little. “That’s not some urban legend. That stuff—” He presses his fingers into his ear again. “It’s not a joke, Sisk.”
“You’re overreacting. They don’t make anyone do anything,” I say. “It’s just rumors.”
“No, you’re underreacting and I don’t understand why. This isn’t you.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder. “People change Ivan. Change is good.”
“Please, just don’t go near it. Promise me you won’t go close.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I’m just curious, okay?”
* * *
At home, the apartment smells like onions and detergent. Millie’s at the stove chopping something too aggressively, while Mom sits at the kitchen table counting and sorting her pills into a plastic organizer with practiced precision.
“I’m making your favorite,” Millie says, licking the wooden spoon.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m going out.”
Mom drops a pill and it skitters across the table. “Out?” she asks, wincing as she bends trying to retrieve it.
“Friend’s house,” I say lightly. “School project.”
Mom nods, and I lean down to kiss the top of her head before handing the pill back.
Millie, however, doesn’t look away. She watches me a second too long.
“What?” I ask. “I do have friends, you know.”
“Since when?” she teases.
I roll my eyes and retreat down the hall to our bedroom.
The space is barely wide enough for two twin beds pushed against opposite walls, a narrow aisle between them like a truce we’re too old to need now.
The old posters are now peeling at the corners.
Our cracked mirror leans against the wall instead of hanging and the walls need paint, but paint costs money, and money is better spent on food and medicine around here.
I stand in front of my wardrobe realizing nothing works. Everything I own feels too much like me. Too careful and too quiet. Too handed down from my sister.
I slide open Millie’s side of the closet—the door sticks halfway, and I have to lift it just right to get it to move.
“Hey!” she says from behind me, catching one of her shirts mid-pull. “Boundaries?”
“I need to borrow something,” I say.
She steps past me, plucks the shirt from my hand, and puts it back.
“Millie, please. I have nothing. Just—let me take one thing, I won’t ruin it.”
She looks at me, then turns, reaching deeper into the closet. She pulls out a tight, black V-neck tank top I’ve never seen her wear. “The tradition’s to wear black, right?”
I open my mouth and close it.
From the kitchen, I hear Mom cough. Millie softens. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” She tilts her head. “Be smart, Sisk. Have fun but be careful.”
She leaves before I can even finish saying thank you, and I start to change. She comes back holding something small and shiny. At first I think it’s a kitchen spice—one of those tiny jars Mom keeps by the stove. Then I realize it’s lipstick. Millie never wears lipstick.
“I didn’t know you owned lipstick,” I say, watching her.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she winks.
“How’s Mom?”
Millie shrugs. “Same. Morning was bad. She couldn’t get out of bed.” She picks at the sleeve of her shirt. “I got her to eat a little.”
Guilt presses in as I look at her. Millie’s only a few years older, but I’ve always looked up to her like she’s already lived a full life. She had to grow up fast for us.
She applies the lipstick for me, steady and precise, then turns me toward the mirror.
In the reflection, I barely recognize myself. Good.
“My little sis is all grown up… just… don’t forget where you come from when that boy’s around.”
“Who?” I ask.
She smiles, then reaches out and pinches my nose like she used to when we were kids. “You know who.”