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They got to Patrick’s house in under three grating songs on the easy listening station. Patrick was already waiting at the door when Hart rolled his truck into the driveway, and the first thing he said when Rose and Hart emerged from the truck was, “I don’t know what she’s on, but I swear she didn’t get it from me.”

Patrick didn’t look guilty or worried, and Hart only seemed resolved, walking through the halls of Patrick’s house like he’d taken this route a million times before. It surprised Rose that she was the first to ask whether Heather was okay.

“She’s fine,” Patrick said. “But it’s totally killing the vibe.” He turned to Hart. “She’s doing that thing where her drags get super mean. Like, she said the only thing I’d ever succeed at would be alcoholism. But that’s not true, right?”

Patrick waited desperately for Hart’s answer, but Hart didn’t even seem to hear him. Rose heard, though, and had to clamp her lips shut to keep from laughing out loud. She might not like Heather very much, but she had to admit the girl could be witty. But Rose wasn’t very good at hiding what she thought, and Patrick suddenly turned to her. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “That shit is not cool .”

They got to the basement door and Hart went down the stairs first, Patrick and Rose following close behind. The room, hazy with smoke, bore a large flat-screen on the wall, a foosball table off to the side, a recliner with a boy draped over it, and a lumpy beige sofa. Heather was sitting on it upside down, with her legs draped over the top and her head lolling off the seat.

“H, you came!” she said to Hart. From this angle, her smile looked like a frown. Or maybe it really was a frown, now that she noticed Rose. “And you came.”

“Come on,” Hart said, tugging Heather’s wrist to try to swivel her right side up. “Let’s go.”

Heather let herself be pulled to standing, without offering Hart much help herself. She watched Rose with narrowed eyes. “Did I ruin your guys’ evening?” she asked in an overly dramatic moan. And then she looked at Rose with dilated but still piercing eyes and said, “Ew, were you in the middle of doing it ?”

It was comments like this that made Rose hate being around Heather. But it was also the way Heather could so eerily, accurately read Rose that made the hair on her arms stand up. How could she tell, just by looking at her, what Rose had been doing? Then Heather jabbed an index finger just below Rose’s neck. “Your shirt’s on backwards.”

Rose looked down to see a tag sticking out at her collarbone, just as Patrick and the other boy in the room burst out laughing. “ Yo ,” Patrick giggled. “Hart, up top!”

But Hart left Patrick’s high five hanging, guiding Heather up the basement stairs. Rose followed, blocking out the laughter until they were outside and she couldn’t hear it anymore. Heather was making this anything but easy, and Hart had to stuff his thrashing twin into the backseat like an oversized blanket into a washing machine.

“Would you stop trying to hit me?” Hart hissed, ducking out of the way of a flailing arm.

“Would you stop trying to hit yourself ?” Heather laughed, slapping at his face but missing by a mile.

“Dumbass,” Hart said.

“Donkeyass!” Heather barked back.

They seemed like well-worn names the twins called each other, except Heather’s tone was much more affectionate than her brother’s. Finally, Hart managed to fold her all the way inside and safely close the door, and he and Rose climbed into the front.

“I want you to know I’m really trying this time,” Heather said from the back as Hart put the truck into drive. “Obviously, I’m bored—there’s no getting around that—but I’m going to do something with myself in this lifetime. Did I tell you I’m taking up electric guitar?” Rose turned as she clicked her seat belt, catching a glimpse of Heather breaking into a mean air guitar.

“Do you know what she’s on?” Rose whispered.

Hart shook his head curtly, eyes on the road and knuckles tight on ten and two.

“Last time I took up Italian, obviously, so I could know it better when I get there,” Heather said. “I’m fluent now, if you care. Ma arriverò mai a Roma?” She sat up and poked her head between the front seats, her chin almost on Hart’s shoulder. “Riddle me that, baby brother.”

A sober Heather was unpleasant enough, but a hammered Heather was a totally different animal, and Rose didn’t know what to make of her. On the surface there was the feeling Rose always had around her—trepidation, wariness. Rose had the sense not to get too close, or make direct eye contact. If she did, she’d be in Heather’s clutches, and there was no telling how she might lash out. But after going largely ignored throughout the ride, Heather leaned between the two front seats, making herself unavoidable. “Do you want to know why Hart’s the gardener and I’m not?” She didn’t wait for Rose to answer. “I used to be really good at it, but now everything I plant in the garden dies.”

The truck came to a stop and when Rose looked out her window, she saw they were at her house. Hart got out and Rose did, too, and the two of them walked up the lawn. Hart caught her hand and squeezed it tight. “I’m really sorry about tonight,” he said. “But now you know.”

“Know what?”

“That my family is… a disaster.” He looked so resigned, like he’d just handed in homework and he knew he’d gotten all the answers wrong. But Rose squeezed his hand back and looked up at him. “You’re an amazing brother,” she said. Even if at times Hart and Heather didn’t seem very close, Hart was still there for her when she needed him. He cared for his sister in the same way he cared for his flowers: with tenderness and attention and—Rose’s thoughts were doing that thing again, where they started to float away the longer she stared at Hart’s face. She pressed her lips against his and Hart kissed her back, his arms circling her waist. But even as she pulled away, his mouth kept all her focus. He bit his lip, and that was all it took to totally distract Rose and make her forget that Heather was even there. “Did anybody ever tell you that you have really good teeth?” she said.

Hart laughed at the randomness of it. And Heather did, too. She snickered out the open window. “Ask him how he got such perfect teeth, Rose!”

Hart shot his sister a look, and Heather stuck her tongue out at him before lying back in the seat.

Hart turned to Rose again. “Not perfect. I get a lot of cavities.” He planted another quick kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Rose nodded and watched him jog back to his truck, slipping into the driver’s side and slamming the door shut.

“See you tomorrow, Rose!” Heather yelled out the window. “And the day after that and the day after that and the day after that!”