Iris leaned over the back of the couch. Her eyes scanned my phone screen. The soft glow reflected in her dark eyes, and I watched her expression shift from curious to knowing to something like concern.
"She's scared," Iris said. Her voice had gone quiet. The teasing edge was gone.
"Yeah."
"She actually cares about doing well." My sister straightened up. Crossed her arms. "Like, really cares."
"Yeah."
"And you care about her."
I turned my head. Looked at my sister. At those too-perceptive eyes that saw everything I tried to hide. At the oversized Queen hoodie that used to be mine. At the way she was studying me like I was a problem set she'd been assigned to solve. Like she'd already worked out the answer while I was still stuck on the first equation.
"I care about all of them," I said. Each word came out carefully measured. "That's the problem."
"No, Zay." Iris shook her head. Slow. Definitive. "You care about all of them differently. That's worse."
