Page 24 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“Was it everything you dreamed?” she asks.

“Yeah... no,” I say, flopping onto my own bed. “Definitely not.”

I realize I never asked Georgia what she was doing tonight for Valentine’s Day. I guess we were fighting earlier, but that’s still an asshole move. She’s always seeing some boy—they practically wait in line for their chance with my shining star sister.

“No Ben?” I ask. I’m pretty sure that’s the name of her most recent guy.

“No Ben.” She snorts and shakes her head. “Turns out he thinks seeing the originalHamiltoncast on Broadway is acceptable as a primary personality trait. And I’m like, ‘Dude, you were eight. Move on.’ Plus he got all weird when I said I wasn’t gonna try out for Liesl inSound of Musicjust because he was going for Rolf. I cannot be with anyone who doesn’t know I was born to be Maria.”

I smile. “No one else at Willmore even stands a chance.”

Georgia’s always been that way, practically came out of the womb belting “Don’t Rain on My Parade” and demanding what’s hers. She knows she belongs in the spotlight. She wouldneverhold herself back or make herself small for a guy... for anyone. And here I was being completely desperate for even the smallest crumbs of attention from Charlie that I’m never going to get.

“Anyway, I think I’m done with dating,” Georgia says. “I’m just going to focus on my career.”

“Your career?” I shake my head. “Georgia, you’re fourteen.”

She rolls her eyes and waves that away, as if it’s a minor detail. “Hey, Mom’s not back yet. It must be going well with Andre.”

I give a noncommittal grunt in response. I hope Mom is having a good time. I really, truly do. She deserves it. But still... it was a lot easier to handle the idea of my mom going out on a Valentine’s date when I thought I was doing the same.

“Hey, what’s up?” Georgia says, and I give her a look. That’s all it takes—I don’t have to detail all the ways that tonight went wrong or tell her she was right. She just gets it.

“I know what you need.” Georgia hops off her bed and turns on our Bluetooth speaker, then scrolls to something on her phone. Seconds later, the sweet sounds of “Death by a Thousand Cuts” by Taylor Swift start to play from the speaker. Georgia starts to sway and picks up her Denman brush to use as a microphone.

It feels like sisters can only exist as polar opposites. I guess it’s evolution or something, so that we each can justify our place since we’re not like... furthering the family name? But this is the onething that Georgia and I do have in common: our love for Taylor Swift. And our firm belief that losing yourself in one of her songs can make anything better.

Taylor was there when Georgia was cast as Milky White instead of Little Red Riding Hood inInto the Woods. When the orthodontist said I had to keep my braces on for an extra six months. When our parents got divorced. Georgia even used to put on this rain noise machine when we were younger—to “get the full Taylor crying-in-the-rain experience”... Georgia is dramatic like that. But it helped to block out the sounds of Mom and Dad fighting. Our Taylor Swift dance parties have gotten us through so much.

So even though it would be a lot easier to go to bed and wallow in my feelings, I get up and sing along to “Teardrops on My Guitar” and scream along to “Fifteen” and fling myself around in some weird interpretive dance to “cardigan.” And by the time “Last Kiss” comes up on Georgia’s playlist, my chest is heaving and my heart is speeding, but I feel better. I always do.

We’re both lying on our beds, listening to “All Too Well” and staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling in the low light of the room when Georgia turns the volume down.

“Hey, you don’t interrupt a Taylor Swift bridge,” I say. “Especiallythisbridge.”

“Well, I’m going to now because this is important.” I turn to look at her, and she’s on her side, looking at me all serious.

“I just want to say that I’ve watched the videos online, of you guys performing, and you’re really good. And, like, I shouldn’t even be surprised. You’ve always had such a great voice—I hearyou in the shower when you think no one’s listening. But I want you to know... you’re amazing, sissy.” She slips into the nickname she used to have for me when she was little and still wanted to play with me all the time, insisting we put on a show with the Barbies.

I wave that away. “I don’t actually know what I’m doing, not like you. I’m just messing around.” Delilah’s voice makes audiences break out into chills and cry and, I don’t know... reflect on their lives. My voice is just screechy screaming.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. It’s not a competition. It’s different. But I’m glad you’ve found this. I’m glad you’re getting a chance to shine.”

She doesn’t mention Charlie but I can feel the subtext in her raised eyebrow and pursed lips:Make sure you shine.In all parts of your life.

And I know she’s right. I know it’s not right with Charlie. Tonight made that so clear. I need to let those hopes go, once and for all. Somehow. While I’m still in a band with him. Singing into the microphone with him and standing so close and smelling his sweat and... Oh god.

I’m done. I want to be done. But it’s also really freaking hard to be done.

“I have someone I could set you up with, actually. Not a freshman! Don’t worry. He’s this junior, Damien. He’s part of the production crew, he helps make a lot of the sets. And he, um, wears a lot of black like you?”

I quickly shake my head. If I even wanted to do that, it wouldn’t be one of Georgia’s theater kid friends. It would be someone...well, someone like Reggie. Someone it’s easy to be around. Someone not worried about cool, but just, I guess, himself. After how weird I was tonight, though,that’snot happening.

“Thank you, really, for the matchmaking offer,” I say. “But I think maybe... I’m done with dating too? I just need to fall in love with myself a little bit more right now, you know? Before I can even think about something like that.”

She pops up off her bed and claps her hands. “Yes! Love this for us! We’ll make a pact!”

“Whoa, whoa.” I hold my palms up. “Not exactly a pact. That’s a little too dramatic—”

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