Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,1

Connor was baking in Mom’s Easy-Bake Oven, so to 3

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speak, I was frozen. When he was crying and getting his dia-pers changed and people were talking about how cute he was, I was in the deep freeze.

After our talk, we got ice cream for Mom and Connor, and we went home. Connor asked if I wanted to kick a ball around in the backyard, and I said yes, but I couldn’t keep my eye on it. All I could do was stare at him—at me, two years into the future. I asked Connor if he knew we were twins. He said he’d found out on his own a few Christmases ago when he was snooping for presents in Mom and Dad’s closet. He found our baby books and when he started looking through them, noticed that when put side by side at the same ages, we were identical. He said he’d wanted to tell me, but Mom and Dad thought it would be better if I was a little older before I knew.

People used to comment that Connor and I looked alike, but it seemed like people had to say that. Like it was a rule or something to say, “Oh, he looks just like his brother.”

I remember Connor putting his hands on my shoulders, his arms tilting downward because he was two years taller.

“I’m glad we’re twins,” he said. “Are you?”

I nodded. He smiled, and we started kicking the ball again.

But I couldn’t stop wondering what it would have been like if we’d graduated preschool together. If we could have always been together.

“Even in that stupid getup, he looks handsome,” Emma says, staring at Connor’s photo displayed on the wall with all the photos of the graduating class in their caps and gowns. It’s not 4

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a very big graduating class. Rose Hill High School has a total of about six hundred students in the entire school—pretty typical for a small town in Kansas. “I can’t wait to see him onstage giving his speech.”

I don’t say anything as students rush past us, anxious to step out of the frigid air-conditioning and into the warm spring—

almost summer—air.

“I’m meeting Connor at your house after school,” Emma says. “You should let me drive you home.”

“Doesn’t Connor have track practice?”

She shakes her head, her long blond hair brushing against her shoulders. “The coach doesn’t want Connor worn out for the meet tomorrow, so no practice today. We’re going to hang out for a while and then grab some dinner.”

Of course they are. I love having Emma around all the time.

I love hearing her laugh as Connor tickles her on the sofa. I love watching him whisper in her ear right before he kisses her and my dad tells them to get a room and Mom tells them not to.

I love her blue eyes. I love her full lips and the pink gloss she lightly coats them with. I bet it has a flavor—cotton candy or bubble gum. I could ask her, but I won’t. It’s bad enough to be head over heels for your brother’s girl, but I refuse to be that pathetic.

“So, about that ride home?”

Emma never offers me rides, usually because she’s too busy with her after-school activities. Plus, I only live a few blocks from school.

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“Why?” I ask.

“I want to talk to you,” she says. “It’s important.”

“It better be,” I say, not because being alone with her in a confined space could be torture, but because riding in her car is definitely dangerous. Really dangerous.

We follow the dwindling mob of high school students out to the parking lot, where most of the parking spaces are occupied by hand-me-down four-doors or old pickup trucks. Emma’s car takes up half a parking space at most.

“Get in,” she says, unlocking the doors with the remote.

I hesitate, looking at the dull green coffin on wheels. “I think I’ll walk.”

“Please,” she begs. “I promise it’s safe. It even has air bags.”

“Are you sure?” The Smart car is tiny, and I can’t help imagining a dozen circus clowns crammed into it. “Does it really have air bags, or does a whoopee cushion pop out of the steering wheel?”

“Don’t insult my car. I love my car. And I love the environment.”

I open the door and get in. It’s roomier than I expected.

“Your mom said you might not go

Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,1

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