Page 103 of How to Be Remy Cameron

“Wow.”

I want to laugh. None of this has been funny. Life is funny in that super-ironic way no one likes. It’s catastrophes and tragedies, and there’s just something so hilarious about how emotions guide the ship instead of anchoring it.

Talking to Mom about this was weird. She was super calm. She held Dad’s hand, then mine, and listened patiently. Mom did all the things you’re supposed to when someone is telling you something big. Even the “I love you, thank you for talking about this” part. Somewhere inside me, I knew she wanted to cry: for me, for not knowing what to say, for not knowing.

But she did say something. She said, “You might not ever want to know her. That’s okay. But know this: Your mother gave us a wonderful gift. She gave us a beautiful boy who is strong enough to carry the world on his shoulders. But you don’t have to, not always. Even when you think you’re supposed to for the sake of others,you don’t have to.

“Remy, we don’t get to decide who other people think we are. What labels they want to attach to us. But we get to show ourselves who we know we are. You know yourself better than anyone. You’re a gift. You’re you, no explanations or labels necessary.”

Then I cried. But it was a good cry.

Mom combed my curls back. She whispered, “You know who you are,” and I do. I know, I know, I know.

“So,” Rio says, tapping her chin, “what now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” I repeat happily. “I have a half-sister. She’s really cool. And, I don’t know, we’ll probably hang out. Wewillhang out. But this doesn’t change me.”

Lucy’s eyes brighten. She grabs my hand. “This doesn’t change you.”

Something swells inside me, forcing its way up through my chest, to my throat. “I’m a Cameron,” I say. I can’t stop beaming. “I’m a Cameron!”

“You’re a loser with an unhealthy Reese’s addiction,” Rio says. “And poor wardrobe choices.”

“You’re a coffee addict,” Lucy chimes in.

“You’re incapable of making smart love life decisions, Romeo.”

“And you’re a future homecoming prince without a date,” says Lucy.

I groan. Seriously, I need to spend less time on the Essay of Doom and more on my intricate, indisputable—thanks PSATs—plan of revenge on Lucy. “I don’t need a date,” I say with the confidence of a virgin liar.

Rio side-eyes me. Lucy cracks up. She grabs a glazed donut from the Krispy Kreme box I brought. Guaranteed reinforcements were needed.

“You could go stag.” Lucy sighs disappointedly. Lucy, the anime-infatuated secret romantic. “Or,” the corners of her mouth curl, “you could go with a certain cutie in glasses who lovesYuri!!! On Iceand is totally friends with my boyfriend.”

I glare at her. Cool best friend loyalty aside, Lucy’s annoying about these things. She’s obsessed with taking two people she thinks will be great together and trying to make magic happen. But Ian and I aren’t characters in one of her fanfics. We can’t just… happen, as much as I want us to, as much as I miss that geek.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not… It’s not like that, Lucia.” I shove a donut in my mouth and leave it at that. I’m not outing Ian. I’m not feeding her fangirl dreams.

“Or,” Rio starts, “you could go with me.”

Lucy’s head snaps up. I’ve got this goldfish-face thing going on.Is Rio Maguire going to homecoming?No. That’s ridiculous. She’s not.

Except Rio has this determined look. She says, “I’m not going to the game, Lucy. That’s beneath my antisocial heart.” She turns to me. “But I’m your best friend.” To Lucy, she says, “And I’m your best friend. Promises were made in third grade over juice boxes andAdventure Time. I’m not bailing on that.”

“You don’t have to,” whispers Lucy.

“I know.”

“But you are?”

“Hair appointment made. Mom is skipping a trip to New Orleans for the whole manicure and make-up thing. Dad is documenting the entire ordeal for future family reunions.” Rio gags. “Sacrifices are being made.”

I reach out to squeeze Rio’s hand. It’s sweaty and shaking.

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