Page 125 of With a Little Luck

“Tomorrow. Please.”

She opens her mouth. Hesitates. She studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. One of those twin-telepathy moments that make me feel like a bug under a microscope.

“Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“What? Nothing’s going on with me.”

“Is it Maya?”

I hesitate. “Yeah. I guess.”

Pru clips the pen back to the papers and shuts the binder. She settles it in her lap and stares at me full-on. “Liar.”

I snort. “You’re not a mind reader, Pru.”

“Please.You believe in the twin psychic connection as much as I do.”

I wish I could argue with that statement, but I can’t. I’ll never forget the time I twisted my ankle on the playground in elementary school and Pru, who had been helping a teacher clean whiteboards, actually beat me to the nurse’s office. The nurse asked if she’d seen it happen through the windows, but Pru shook her head and said she just …knew.

Sometimes having a twin is bizarre.

“So?” Pru presses.

“So what?”

Sighing, Pru crosses her arms over her chest. “I know you are as concerned about the store as I am. I know you want to help. So why are you looking at me like you have better things to be thinking about right now, when all you have to be thinking about is that extra-credit paper onThe Great Gatsby?”

I glower at her. “I do have other things to think about. And for your318information, I tried to help the store, and it didn’t work, so you know what? I’m giving up. It’s all on you now. Good luck.”

She looks positively disgusted as she sets the binder beside her. “I get it. That the records were damaged is a huge disappointment. But you can’t just give up.”

“I like it when you tell me I can’t do something. It makes me want to try harder.”

Pru scowls, unamused. “The skip in those records wasn’t your fault.”

I rest my elbow on the desk, massaging my brow. “Pru. Seriously. Go to prom. Have fun. We’ll talk about it later.”

I hear her drumming her fingers against the top of the binder. I imagine I can hear the gears in her brain, spinning, spinning.

Then—“You could come with us, you know.”

I shoot her a disgruntled look. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. You, me, Quint, Ezra … Ari. It will be fun.”

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“Uh-huh.” She chews the pen cap. “It must have been a lot of work, putting those records together. Not just the song list, but the artwork, too. And you spent all that time editing the music video. I bet you really wanted it to be … special.”

Alarms blare in my head. “What is your point?”

She doesn’t respond. Just waits.

I clench my jaw and look away.

“Jude,” says Pru. So gently it makes me wince.

“What do you want me to say?”

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