Page 1 of Sweet Nothings

ONE

Six years earlier

“It’s not going to work.” I stiffen my arm, unwilling to give my sister’s hairbrained scheme any more thought.

“It will.” Roe’s long, tan legs eat the space between us as she marches across my room and rips the ID card from my grip. Giving me a pointed look, she darts her attention back to the card and narrows her eyes. She studies it as if she’s mentally checking off all the reasons why using this fake ID will work. Seconds tick by before she dramatically flips her long brown hair and plops herself down on the oversized bean bag chair I stole from her before she moved from our parents’ house two years ago and into her dorm. She sinks into it, crossing her legs under her. She delicately cradles the card in her small hands and stares up at me. Her pointed expression is now one of silent pleading.

I sigh. “The girl in the picture doesn’t even look like me, Roe.”

“Yes, she does,” she disagrees. There’s an edge to her voice as if she’s on the brink of resorting to flat out begging me to go with her.

Frustrated, I unravel my legs from my bed and cross the room to stand in front of her. She looks up at me with unwavering confidence; the only kind I’ve ever seen woven intoher expression. Firm set jaw. Placid, perfect, full lips. Her brown eyes are both menacing and kind, at the same time. Kindness hidden behind her tough exterior; Roe doesn’t surrender easily when she has her sights set on a goal.

But I haven’t given up my fight yet. Staying in my room and snuggling in the comfort of my own bed while watching crime documentaries sounds infinitely more exciting than the illegal adventure my sister is convincing me to partake in.

I stab the card with my finger, preparing to go through my list of reasons why I positively know this won’t work. “Half her hair is blue.”

She waves me off, breaking her plain stare. The corners of her mouth curl deviously. “Blue hair is usually temporary,” she argues. “It could have faded.”

“Her hair is blonde at the roots. My entire head is as dark a shade of brown as it can get.”

“You could have dyed it.”

“Okay, now you’re really starting to sound like a lawyer.” I groan, ripping the card from her hands the same way she took it from me. I lift it to my face and shake my head. Uncertainty wobbles in my belly, and my chest flutters. It feels as if a thousand electric shocks are shooting underneath my skin.

“Come on,” Roe whines.

Now she’s resorting to begging.

“It’s your nineteenth birthday, Laurel. And my twenty-first. You’re my baby sister and my best friend. We can’t celebrate separately. We never have and never will.”

She’s right. We haven’t. We’ve always been together every single year.

But something about this birthday is different. The air in my room feels stale. The thrill of going out and celebrating seems lackluster.

“You need to get out,” Roe continues. “Meet new people.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll meet new people when the semester starts in a month. If you haven’t forgotten, I’m going to Harvard, too. We’ll practically be living together again.”

My sister Monroe is exactly two years older than me to the day. Despite our two-year age difference, we look nearly identical: long, dark chestnut hair, big, equally as dark brown eyes. But the way we look is where our similarities end. Monroe is far more sociable than I am. She’s louder and has about one hundred more friends than I do. Hence why she’s currently sitting in front of me, pleading with me to go out with her. She’s always begging me to tag along. I used to deny her flat out when she begged, but the older I’ve gotten, the more I tend to cave.

I’m trying my hardest to not let her win this time.

“We can go another night,” I tell her, dropping the card on my desk.

With a huff, she sits up and swipes the card back. She grabs my purse and tugs my wallet free, swapping it for my actual ID card. The one that says I’m currently nineteen.

“I’ve been using this card for the past year,” she admits. Satisfied the card is tucked away safely in my purse, she crosses the room again and wraps both her hands around mine. “Please.”

I nervously chew on the inside of my cheek. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

“I’m telling you.” She blinks with a knowing grin. “This is the place to be tonight. The Underground is where everyone from Harvard goes on nights like this. I’ve even seen a few Boston College guys there. Maybe you can meet one. There’s this one guy I’ve been talking to, and I could use you as my sidekick. I need you there.”

The idea of meeting someone tonight causes my stomach to somersault. It’s been six months since I ended my relationship with my ex. I thought he was everything I wanted, but he wasn’t.

I felt no fire. No butterflies. Nothing.

I was left feeling unfilled. So, I ended it.

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