Cookie

1

"Wake up, Nat! You're going to be late for class."

My mom's soft voice pulls me from sleep, and as soon as I open my eyes, her beautiful face comes into focus. My mother, Emily Peck—formerly Humphrey—is 43, but she still looks like she's in her twenties. Her golden blonde hair falls perfectly to her shoulders, framing her face in a way that makes her emerald-green eyes shine even brighter. Those unnatural green eyes captivate everyone who meets her. My father always says he was bewitched by them from the moment he first saw her 25 years ago. But if you ask me, I’d say her flawless white skin, full lips, and perfectly sculpted body helped capture his attention too.

"I'm up," I say, forcing a smile—the same fake smile I’ve worn every morning for the past year and a half.

She leans down to kiss my forehead, and I lift my head just enough to kiss her warm cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla. Then, she rises from my bed, reminding me that breakfast will be ready in ten minutes and that I’d better be ready too, or I'll be late. And being late for college is never a good idea.

I'm about to start my second year at Saint Helena University, and yes, I still live with my parents. It might seem strange, but in our small town of Nearon, it's completely normal. Nearon doesn’t have a mall, a theater, or even a public pool, but it does have its own college. Saint Helena isn’t exactly Harvard—it’s small and far from prestigious, but it does the job. Most students here have lived in town their whole lives, so it feels more like high school all over again. But at least I get to stay close to my family.

"I'll be down in a second, Mom."

I get up and catch my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. And for a brief moment, I see her again—Criss. It’s like she’s staring right back at me, as if I could just reach out and touch her.

Same curly blonde hair cascading down to the middle of my back. Same big green eyes that always made us look so innocent. Same small nose. Same thin lips we both hated. Same height. Same weight. Same everything.

Criss was my twin sister, my best friend. We never fought, never spent a day apart. She was always there for me, and I was always there for her. So, of course, on the night of the accident, we were together.

It happened a year and a half ago. We had just finished high school, thrilled that we both got accepted into our hometown college. To celebrate, we went to a club with Luke—Criss’s boyfriend.

Luke was... nice. He was two years older, good-looking, and completely in love with my sister. He always did little things to show how much he cared—keeping a sweater for her when she got cold, surprising her with chocolate because she was obsessed with it, bringing her flowers just to remind her she was special. But he was also a football player, and his reputation with girls wasn’t exactly great. So, naturally, I didn’t like him. Actually, I hated him. I did everything I could to make Criss see he wasn’t good enough for her.

And in the end, my stupid attempts to break them up cost them their lives.

The party had been fun. Criss and I danced all night while Luke sat at a table drinking, watching us. He only got up occasionally—to pull Criss in for a kiss, which made me sick to my stomach. No one wants to see her sister's body being touched like that in public. Trust me.

Eventually, I got fed up and wanted to leave. Luke wanted to stay, but Criss—being Criss—chose to stick by me.

We got into Luke’s car. I wanted to drive, but he refused, claiming he’d only had one beer. And like an idiot, I let him. But not before picking a fight with him, trying—again—to prove to Criss that he wasn’t right for her.

I don’t talk about what happened next. I don’t talk about how we crashed. Or why. It’s too shameful.

We were three people in that car. But only I survived.

And I wasn't the one who deserved to live.

My last memory of Criss is of her sitting in the passenger seat, leaning in to kiss Luke, laughing and singing along to All of Me by John Legend.

"‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections..."

Then—darkness.

I woke up three days later in a hospital with broken ribs, a broken leg, a fractured neck, and a head full of stitches.

And I woke up alone.

The pain? There are no words for it. It’s worse than any nightmare, worse than your biggest fear. It’s the kind of pain that settles in your chest, crushing you from the inside out. They say grief feels like having your heart ripped from your chest, but that’s not true. It’s worse. Your heart stays right where it is, throbbing in agony, making it impossible to breathe, to think, to move. All you feel is the pain. And you cry until your eyes burn. Until there are no more tears left. And then you scream. You scream so hard your throat bleeds on the inside.

(The next morning...)

"Ready for the big day, pumpkin?" Dad asks, and I force a smile.

"Yeah, I am so excited," I lie, sitting at the table and grabbing my grilled cheese sandwich while my mom pours me a cup of coffee.

They both sit in their usual spots at our square table. We rarely eat together these days, but when we do, I always find myself glancing at Criss’s empty seat, half-expecting her to walk in.

"Look, Nataly," Mom says, grabbing my hand. "Last year was hard for all of us—especially you—but you need to move on."

I blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling, but it’s impossible. Every time they mention her, I automatically start to cry. I bite my bottom lip, sinking my teeth deep into the flesh until I taste blood.

"Nat, you grieved enough. Now it’s time to start living again.* You need to go out again, make friends, have fun. Criss is gone, *she doesn’t have the chance to live, but you do. And you have to."

I wipe my eyes and cheeks, taking a sip of coffee. I fake a smile again.

"I know," I say softly. "This year will be different..."

Mom squeezes my hand, and I drop my gaze to the empty plate in front of me, avoiding her burning eyes.

"We love you, pumpkin. You mean everything to us, and we just want you to be happy."

"I love you too, guys. And I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? I promise—this year will be different."

But as I stand at the gates of Saint Helena University, I wonder if I can really keep that promise.