by Ali Novak
When Cara first got sick, our mom made an effort to try to keep my and Drew’s lives as normal as possible. But Cara’s treatment was long and grueling, so she started homeschooling. The three of us didn’t like being apart, not when things were so serious, so Drew and I begged our mom to let us be homeschooled too. That way, we could be with Cara and still receive an education. She finally agreed, and we never went back.
Until freshman year, I’d loved being a triplet. It set us apart and made the other kids our age think we were cool. It was like we were exotic animals at the zoo that everyone wanted to see, and we always got asked questions like whether we could read each other’s thoughts or feel when one another got hurt. We always responded by putting on a show. Drew would pinch himself, and Cara and I would grab our sides and grimace as if we had felt his fingers too.
It wasn’t until high school that I realized people only knew me as one of the Samuel triplets. During English class on my first day, the girl sitting next to me asked, “Are you Cara or the other girl?” as if I could only be defined by the fact that I was one of three. That was when I decided I needed to stand out from my siblings, to declare who I was and all that independent stuff. The problem was that I didn’t really know how to go about doing it.
I thought about the girl from my English class. She had one of those scary nose rings that made her look like a bull, and her dreadlocks were dyed purple. I was willing to bet that nobody forgot who she was—not when she looked like that. But I wasn’t as daring as her.
Although my ears were already pierced, getting a nose ring scared me. On top of that, I was nervous the maintenance required to keep all of my chestnut hair a solid blue—my favorite color—would be too much work. In the end, I settled for a single streak of aqua in my bangs and a small, sparkly stud in my left nostril to start my metamorphosis from Stella the triplet to Stella the individual.
High school was going to be my chance to break away and discover who I was, and during those first few months of freshman year, I started to. Drew, who was built like our dad, tall and thick, easily made the football team. Cara had always been the most outgoing of the three of us, so it made sense when she joined the cheerleading squad and yearbook committee. But even though we normally did everything together, I decided not to try out for the squad.
Instead, I signed up for as many clubs as I had time for—from student council, which I hated, to academic decathlon, which I also hated. Art club became my fast favorite. Not only did I love the quirky cast of kids, but there was something about imagining and shaping and creating that I found intriguing.
I packed my schedule so tightly that, during those two months, it was as if I didn’t have siblings anymore because I saw so little of them.
But when Cara got sick, all of our individual growth folded in on itself, and we just became the triplets again. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of who we could’ve been from those few high-school fragments that stayed with us. Cara never went anywhere without at least three different lip gloss options, and Drew always tried to make a competition out of things, whether it was beating me in a game of Scrabble or seeing who could get a better test score.
That’s why I held on to photography so tightly. It was my only takeaway from a time that was supposed to be mine but never really was. One of my art friends introduced me to it, and even though I wasn’t a natural, I enjoyed it enough to make an effort to improve. So while every other teenager was blundering their way through high school, experimenting and making mistakes, I was at home staying how I always had been, whatever that was—but at least I had one thing that was all my own.
Before I could dive into the details of why Bianca’s work was so meaningful, I spotted a great shot farther up the sidewalk. “Oooh, look!” I said and rushed ahead to snap a picture.
“Stella,” Drew said when he caught up to me. “That’s a fire hydrant. We have those back in Minnesota.”
“Yeah, but look at the way the sunlight is hitting it,” I said and adjusted my lens.
Drew scoffed. “Please don’t tell me there’s some symbolic meaning in the contrast between the light and the shadows or some artsy bull like that.”
“No,” I said and crouched down to get a closer picture. “I just think it’s pretty.”
“But it’s a fire hydrant,” Drew repeated, and crease lines—something my mom always warned us would become permanent if we frowned too much—formed on his forehead.
Knowing there had to be at least one good picture out of the ten I took, I straightened up and poked Drew in the side. “Sure, but it’s a very symbolic fire hydrant.”
At this, Drew opened his mouth to argue, but then decided against it and shook his head. “Come on, expert photographer,” he said. “We’re going to be late for the signing.” He turned and continued up the sidewalk, expecting me to follow.
“All right, all right,” I said, laughing before jogging to catch up with him. “I’m coming.”
• • •
It only took us ten minutes to walk to the radio station, but Drew was right. We were late.
“I don’t get it,” I said as we took a spot at the end of a long line. “The signing isn’t supposed to start for another hour.”
Crossing his arms, Drew shot me a look. “Really, Stella? You’re surprised that a ton of people are waiting to see a world-famous band?”
“Okay, maybe not,” I admitted. “We probably should have gotten here earlier, but I didn’t want to leave the gallery.”
“I know,” Drew said, his tone lighter. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”
“Hopefully,” I responded, but as I gauged the line in front of us, I had serious doubts.
Ninety-nine percent of the crowd was female—a few moms with little girls, but mainly teenagers dressed up in floral sundresses or cute tops. They made kissy faces as they posed with friends for Instagram pictures and squealed over each other’s Heartbreaker merchandise.
Eyeing the girls around me, I felt like an impostor in my plain T-shirt and Converses. I patted my hair and regretted not brushing through it this morning. Instead, I had pulled it back in a sharp ponytail that showed off my bright-aqua strand. A few girls glanced at us in curiosity, and I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me because I stood out like a sore thumb or if they were checking out Drew. While being distinct from my siblings was important to me, I didn’t like feeling out of place. I skimmed the crowd to make sure nobody was looking before yanking out my hair band and tugging my fingers through my bangs. Nobody else had a stud in their nose or multiple ear piercings like me, but I wasn’t going to take those out too.
Finally the mob of estrogen rushed forward as the doors to the station were opened. I briefly bowed my head in thanks, but my relief didn’t last long. Once inside, I saw the long, roped-off line that twisted through the huge lobby. We were at the end of it.
“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed.
Drew started to say something, but he was cut off as an uproar rippled through the crowd. Clasping my hands over my ears, I tried to block out the sudden screams of hundreds of fans.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a man announced with a megaphone. “Please put your hands together for the Heartbreakers!”
Even standing on my tiptoes, I couldn’t see the group of boys that had caused the commotion. Too many girls were jumping up and down in front of me for me to get a good view.
Another round of screaming made the room shake when a song started blasting through the building’s sound system. Drew pulled his iPod out of his back pocket and put his headphones on. I groaned out loud, knowing that if I checked my backpack, mine wouldn’t be there. I had left my iPod in the car, and Drew chuckled when he saw the panicked look on my face.
“Rock, paper, scissors for it?” I asked with my best puppy-dog face.
“Can’t hear you, Stella,” he said with a smirk. “My m
usic’s too loud.”
He turned the volume up and started to head bob to whatever he was listening to. I closed my eyes in frustration. The rest of today was going to suck.
• • •
My head was pounding. Between two hours’ worth of cheesy lyrics, screaming, and a stuffy room, my brain felt like it was exploding inside my skull.
Cara and I were scary similar in so many ways. We both could quote every line from every episode of Friends like we had written and produced the show ourselves. We hated peanut butter because of the way it made your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth, and neither of us had ever had a boyfriend.
But if there was one startling difference between us, it was our choice in music. As Drew and I stood in line waiting for an autograph, I couldn’t for the life of me understand how Cara enjoyed the Heartbreakers. From the look on Drew’s face, he couldn’t either. His iPod had died about an hour ago, so now we were both suffering.
“She’s totally adopted,” I muttered, which made Drew snicker.
“You’re identical.”
“Irrelevant,” I said and shook my head. “I mean, honestly? Where did she go so wrong?”
“I think it was that girl at the hospital Cara’s friends with.”
“The one with leukemia?”
“Yeah, her. She made mixed CDs for all the pediatric patients.”
“We should sue.”
Drew laughed and rubbed his temples. “Seriously, though. I think this prolonged exposure to musical garbage is wearing on me. You’d think they’d move the line along a little faster.”
“Seriously,” I agreed.
The Heartbreakers’ new CD was playing on a loop, but every time the song changed, another round of screams ensued. By now I could sing along with every song if I wanted.
A girl in front of me turned around. “Oh my God! This is their best song!” she exclaimed, as if we hadn’t heard it a million times already today. “I love the Heartbreakers!”
I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Every song must be their best song. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath. “How close are we?” I asked Drew for the tenth time. I still couldn’t see the front of the line, but we had to be close. If we weren’t…well, I didn’t know how much longer I could stand this torture. Drew, who was a good foot and a half taller than Cara and me, craned his neck over the crowd and looked in the direction I assumed the band was sitting.
He smiled down at me. “Looks like it will only be ten minutes.”
“Oh, thank God!” Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out a few of my sister’s belongings—a Heartbreakers CD, a poster, and a tour shirt. If she didn’t go crazy over this present…
As the minutes passed, we moved slowly up the line. The closer we got, the more often I could catch a small glimpse of the band through the crowd. Cameras flashed as people took pictures. Soon we were only a few people away from the front of the line. A group of girls huddled around the table moved away, and—
I could finally see the Heartbreakers. I scanned the table and my heart stopped.
There were four boys. On the far right sat a broad boy in a muscle shirt and with close-cropped dark hair. On his upper left bicep was an armband tattoo with black spirals that twisted together. Next to him was a tall, lanky guy with messy strawberry-blond hair and thick glasses. The third boy was blond as well, but his hair was styled to a T and drenched with gel to keep every strand in place. A pair of headphones hung around his neck, and he kept fiddling with the earbuds.
The final boy was the one that made my eyes pop. He had a familiar mop of wavy hair and a killer smile: the boy from Starbucks. I felt my face go red as I stared at him. He was talking with a fan as he signed a poster, and then he reached across the table to give her a hug. When she walked away, I could see the tears streaming down her face. My mind was on hyperdrive. I had been flirting with one of the boys from my sister’s favorite boy band? Someone famous?
The line moved forward, and I realized I would have to talk to him again. What would he do when he saw me? Would he remember? Of course he would, I told myself. We’d flirted for a good five minutes, and he paid for my drink! But then again, he’d probably flirted with a million girls. My palms were sweaty, and I quickly wiped them on the back of my shirt.
I didn’t want him to remember me, I realized. I’d told him that I was in Chicago to see an art gallery, not to meet the Heartbreakers. When he saw me standing in front of him asking for an autograph, he would probably laugh and think I was just another crazy fan.
“They look like little kids,” Drew said, startling me from my thoughts. I tore my eyes from the boy.
“What?” I responded, my heart thumping.
“The band.” Drew looked at me funny. “You okay, Stella? You’re kinda pale.”
“What?” I said, forcing a laugh. “I’m totally fine. And yeah, you’re right—little boys.” My brother was still staring at me like he knew something wasn’t quite right, so I continued the joke. “I mean look at the scrawny guy on the left. Can’t be older than twelve.”
Drew looked up at the boy I’d met this morning and cracked a smile. “I don’t know, looks thirteen to me.”
The girl from before turned back around again, but this time she had a sneer on her face. “Oliver is eighteen. Stop making fun of him. It’s not nice.”
Oliver, I thought, churning the name over in my mind. Suddenly I knew why he had seemed so familiar. He was the guy from the magazine article Cara had been reading, the one that called him a heartbreaker.
“You’re kidding, right?” Drew responded, his mouth hanging slack.
She put a hand on her hip. “Does it look like I’m kidding?” When my brother didn’t answer, she continued. “The Heartbreakers are the most talented band ever, and Oliver is amazing. Keep your stupid thoughts to yourself.”
After a few moments of staring with his mouth open, Drew finally recovered and surprised me by apologizing to the girl. “Well, Mrs. Perry,” he started, looking down at her shirt. It read: Future Mrs. Oliver Perry. “I profusely apologize for insulting you. It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” she snapped and pointed at Oliver. “Apologize to him.”
“Next!” one of the bodyguards called. The girl spun around, and her sneer transformed into a smile that must have bordered on painful. I blinked in surprise. During the argument, I hadn’t noticed how close we had gotten to the front of the line. My empty stomach flipped over.
“Drew, I think you were right,” I told him, shoving my sister’s stuff into his arms. “I feel sick. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“No way, Stella.” My brother reached out and grabbed my shirt as I tried to run away. “You’re not getting out of this one. You can puke on the band for all I care, but I refuse to go up there by myself.”
I felt my arms start to shake, dread setting in. There was no way I could face Oliver. “But, Drew…” I whined.
He looked at me with hard eyes. “We are doing this for Cara.”
I bit my lip. Drew was right. My sister was a billion times more important than my pride. Sighing, I hung my head. The bratty girl and her group of friends moved away from the table, and I held my breath. Hopefully the lack of oxygen would calm my nerves.
Suddenly the band stood up and headed off the stage. “Wait, where are they going?” Drew demanded.
“Sorry,” a husky security guard answered. “The boys are done for today. They have to rest for their concert tomorrow.”
Forgetting my embarrassment, I snapped at the man. “We’ve been waiting in line for hours.”
“Yes, and so has everyone behind you,” he pointed out. “The boys can’t get to everyone. There are just too many fans. Better luck next time.”
“But I’m not here for me. This is for my sister’s birthday present. She—” But it did
n’t matter what I had to say. The Heartbreakers were already gone.
Chapter 3
I was spread out on my bed in the hotel, staring up at the ceiling. It was sweltering in our room, and the heat was tiresome in a way that made it impossible to move. If I did, I could feel sweat drops trickling down my neck, and every time I took a breath, my skin stuck to the fabric of my shirt. I let my head roll to the side to look at my brother, who was on his own bed.
“Could it get any hotter?” I asked.
After a silent walk back to our hotel, Drew and I had been glad to finally check in and crash for the night. Our luck, however, was still in a downward spiral, and we ended up receiving a room with a broken air-conditioning unit. Lying on the bed, I couldn’t help but think that this trip hadn’t been worth it. It had been fun to see Bianca’s gallery, but at the moment, all I could think about was how frustrating the rest of the day had been. More than anything, I had wanted to see Cara’s eyes light up when we presented her with an autograph from the Heartbreakers, and now that wouldn’t happen.
My brother glanced up from the book in his hands. “Please don’t jinx it,” he said before returning to reading.
“We should find somewhere with air-conditioning. Wanna grab dinner?”
This time, Drew didn’t bother to look up from the page. “Maybe in a little bit,” he said. “I want to finish this chapter.”
For the past month, Drew had been consumed with completing his summer reading list. When summer was over, he was leaving to attend school in Minneapolis. Freshman registration wasn’t for another two weeks, but Drew wanted to major in English and had already picked a literature course he hoped to take. He was so excited about starting college that he’d decided to read the course material before the semester even began.
I turned away from my brother when my throat grew thick. Freshman year, before Cara was diagnosed, I’d set my heart on NYU. I’d decided that New York would the perfect place for me to discover who I was, independent of my siblings. At the start of senior year when Cara went into remission and I received my acceptance letter, things finally started to feel real. I was going to college.