Page 35 of Not Made to Last

“So… what?”

“So…” I lean against a workbench, my legs crossed at the ankles, and watch her closely. “What doyouwant, Liv?”

A strangled laugh pours out of her. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Not the answer I was expecting. “Play a game with me?” I ask, and I usually hate going in circles like this, but for her, I don’t mind the dizziness.

“What game?”

“Technically, it’s your game, but with my twist. Let’s call it… trading truths.” I wait for a response, and when nothing comes, I continue, “Rules are simple. For every truth I get out of you, I’ll owe you two.”

She taps her chin, eyes to the ceiling, and it’s so fucking cute, I almost break my bravado. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll go first.”

My smile is stupid.

“What did your sister mean before?”

I’d have to be blind not to see that one coming. “About you making me want to stay?”

“Not about me, specifically,” she says, shaking her head. “The staying part. Were you planning to leave? Where were you going?”

“That’s two questions.”

She shrugs. “So, I’ll owe you a truth.”

I grip the edges of the workbench, wondering how much to divulge. “Yes, I was planning to leave, but… I don’t know where I was going.” Not a lie.

“I thought this was about truths?”

“That is the truth.” I choose my next words carefully. “I was planning to leave, but I didn’t have solid plans. It was more awake up and see where life takes mekind of thing.”

Even from across the room, she can see through my bullshit. “And your sister was okay with that?”

I avert my gaze, saying, “As long as she knew where I was when I got there, then yes.” Also not a lie, but further from the truth than I’m comfortable with, so I add, “It wasn’t permanent. When summer’s over, my ass will be in Colorado with her and my parents, so what I do between now and then is… irrelevant.” My discomfort has me itching to change the subject. “Tell me about how you and Dom are siblings.”

“That’s not a question.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Fine. Why do you and Dom have different last names?”

After a heavy sigh, she sets down the scrapey thing she’d been holding on to and leans against the dresser opposite me, giving me her full attention. “I have my mother’s last name. He has my grandparents’—my grandma and step-grandpa.”

“So how?—”

“That’s your one question, Garrett.” My shoulders drop while her lips curve into a wicked smile. “How did you know about our different last names?”

This, I can answer. “I have a… thing for numbers. Statistics, to be precise, and I also have a thing for basketball. Those two things combined had me studying certain players. Your brother’s stats were—are…” It physically pains me to say the words, and I’m sure she can sense that. With a suffering sigh, I mumble, “Dom’s stats throughout his younger years stood out, and so I studied him.”

“Youstudiedhim?”

“Yes.” I nod. “And I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I knew of him before he even made his way to Philips.”

She contemplates this a moment, before stating, “But studying him, his gameplay and his stats don’t lead to knowing about our last names…”

“Once I knew what middle school he went to, finding you wasn’t hard.”

“So, what else do you know about me, you creep?” There’s a hint of playfulness in her tone, and I almost feel bad for diving as deep as I have, because the truth is: I know way more than I should about OliviaMitchell. But the things I’ve learned about her should come from her. Not a handful of archived news stories that someone worked really fucking hard to delete from existence. “I know you were fifteen when you went into your senior year. Graduate at sixteen? That’s kind of baller.”

Her gaze drops to the floor as she shakes her head slowly. “You dove real deep, huh?”

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