Just for Clicks

by Kara McDowell

  Olivia

  I had soooo much fun with Raf on Friday! He’s the best.

  I wake up to the most obnoxious text from Olivia on Monday morning, and I have one more thing to add to my growing list of worries. It was only after we said goodbye that I remembered his Friday night date with Olivia. In the midst of my total meltdown, it slipped my mind. I plan to casually ask him about it at lunch, but the right moment never appears. He doesn’t bring it up.

  He does seem more agitated and distracted than usual. Less like Rafael. When I ask him about it during College Prep, he insists that he’s fine. After that he starts acting more like his usual self, leaning over my shoulder and whispering jokes while Ms. Grant lectures us about the importance of dressing like professionals. She surveys us over the top of her glasses and makes a tutting noise. The majority of the class is in flip-flops and shorts, and a few of the girls are wearing pajama pants. Apparently, Ms. Grant disapproves.

  Time all but stops when I’m at home. I shoved Mom’s journal under my bed and haven’t looked at it since. The swim team has a big meet coming up this weekend and preparing for it demands all of Poppy’s attention, which means after the fall trends vlog is done, we don’t film any new ones. I spend most of my free time in my room, logging into BITES, but I can’t bring myself to post. I finally have a story that will top six brothers sharing a hundred-square-foot bedroom and @SIGNOFTHETIMES’s cryptic “rowboat, poop, dragon,” but I’m no longer interested in winning the “My Life Sucks Worse Than Yours” competition. I preferred it when my biggest problem was an annoying wardrobe.

  With all my problems at home, lunch and seventh period quickly become the highlight of my week. I’m thrilled when Ms. Grant tells us to choose a partner in class on Thursday. As she’s explaining the activity, Poppy reaches her hand across the aisle and knocks off my flip-flop. She silences my question with a pointed look and swats Rafael’s pen off his desk, then quickly buries her head in her bag.

  “Hey!” Rafael glances sideways at Poppy before bending to pick up his pen, and I realize what Poppy is up to. I lean over to slip my sandal back on, meeting Rafael’s eye at desk level.

  Bless you, Poppy. I can practically feel her triumph radiating through the room, and I decide not to let it go to waste.

  “Partner?” I ask.

  He shakes his head in fake disapproval. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two planned that.”

  “Good thing you know better.”

  He smiles in reply. I’m not sure he believes me, and I’m not sure I want him to.

  “You could’ve just asked me.” He sits back and props his feet on my desk.

  I roll my eyes and nudge them off. “It’s like you don’t know me all,” I tease.

  His lips part in question, but he shakes it off without a word.

  We’re doing mock interviews again, this time for college admissions. Rafael and I practice interview questions for a few minutes, but the activity quickly breaks down. People around us start talking about their weekend plans and whether or not Highland stands a chance in Friday’s football game.

  “Where do you want to go to school?” I set the paper down on my desk and settle back into my chair.

  “Everywhere!” He grins and sits up straighter. “I’m trying to narrow it down, but I have eleven schools left on my list.”

  A fierce stab of envy shoots through me. “What schools?

  “NYU, Columbia, BU, Georgetown, Northwestern, Tulane, Berkeley,” he counts them off on his fingers. “Places like that.”

  I sit back, stunned. “Wow. That’s . . . impressive.”

  He shrugs. “Some of them are a long shot, but they all have good pre-med programs.”

  “You want to be a doctor?”

  “Maybe. My dad wants me to be a doctor. There are worse things I could do. What about you?

  “Probably Arizona State.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s where Poppy’s going.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t have to go where Poppy goes.”

  If only that were true. My fingers trace a pattern over the curse words that have been carved in pen on my desk. “There’s a possibility that we’ll film a reality show next fall. We’d have to live in the same city, and they want us close to home, so Mom can make cameo appearances.”

  His head rears back in a mixture of disgust and surprise. “Do you want to be in a reality TV show?

  I look across the room to make sure Poppy is well out of earshot. “No.” My answer is automatic.

  “Then why would you do that to yourself?”

  “I’m doing it for Poppy. It’s her dream come true.”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “You once told me Poppy is a people pleaser. But that’s not true at all. She’s a Poppy pleaser. You’re the one who always wants to make other people happy, but you deserve to be happy too.”

  I can’t possibly explain my thought process to him in a way he’ll understand. I barely understand it myself. The Poppy-and-Claire brand is the only connection we have left. Half the time, I’m afraid quitting will rob her of her dream. The other half, I’m afraid she’ll bail on me the second she finds out we’re not really sisters. I don’t know which scenario scares me more.

  “You’re becoming a doctor because it’s what your dad wants.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s different. I’ve given myself choices by applying to lots of schools. You’re not giving yourself options. You’re just sticking with the one school in the one city that’s closest to home, all so your sister can live out her fame fantasies?”

  “I never said ASU was the only place I applied. I just said I would probably end up there.”

  “Oh? So where else did you apply, Just Claire?” Based on the tone in his voice, he knows I’m lying. He crosses his arms on his desk and leans forward. I consider doing the same just to bring myself a few inches closer to him.

  “UC San Diego.”

  “Why there?”

  My face flames. Why did I tell him that? First of all, it’s a lie. I filled out the application but never submitted it. When Jackson got accepted last year, I thought it would be amazing if we went to school together. I imagined us studying on the beach, walking to class together, eating in the dining hall, and falling in love. I completed the application over the summer, but the soonest I could submit was this fall. By that time, I had given up on most of my Jackson fantasies. After last weekend, those fantasies are gone for good.

  Rafael is still waiting for an answer. “I like the beach,” I mumble as I watch Parker Evans play darts with a pile of sharpened pencils and the ceiling.

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Rafael follows my gaze over his shoulder.

  “Fine,” I admit. “I have a friend who goes to UCSD. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m staying here.”

  A pencil falls from the ceiling and lands on the edge of Rafael’s desk. Before Parker has the chance to grab it, Rafael picks it up and breaks it in half with one hand. “Have you talked to anyone about your mom’s journal yet?” he asks, and I’m thrown by the sudden change in conversation.

  “You mean Poppy?”

  “Poppy. Or anyone.”

  “No, just you. Why?”

  Rafael looks at me hard. It’s a face I recognize well by now. It’s a face that means he has something to say, but he’s waiting to say it.

  “I think you should,” he says at last. He runs his hands over his face. It’s a frustrated gesture but his expression is resigned. He picks up the paper of interview questions. “We should get back to work. What do you want to study in school?”

  Disappointment and curiosity course through me, battling for attention. Rafael has decided not to say whatever he’s thinking, and I can’t even pretend to guess what it is.

  A curvy blonde woman is waiting to accost Poppy and me as soon as Poppy gets home from swim practice. She introduces herself as Stella, and the bangles
on her arms clink together as she greets us with a tight hug. Stella’s an executive from STARR Network, here to deliver our contracts and talk to us about ideas for the reality show. I expect a big pitch before getting down to the nitty-gritty, but to her credit, she slides the contracts across the dining room table as soon as we’re all sitting down with something to drink.

  I glance at the papers and a rush of nausea rises in my throat.

  “Where do I sign?” Poppy flips straight to the last page and picks up a pen.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” I ask, desperate for some way to slow the train barreling straight at me.

  “I’m sure Mom read it,” she says.

  “Claire’s right. You should know what you’re getting into.” Stella reads through the contract line by line, putting oddly strong emphasis on way too many words. She goes slow to makes sure we understand how long filming will need to take place (ten weeks), how often the cameras will be with us (always), and when we’re allowed to take off our mics (in the bathroom). Poppy nods along with everything, and I realize Rafael is right. She’s not trying to please this woman, she’s genuinely thrilled about what she’s hearing.

  “What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the “Scandal Clause.”

  “If, at any time before, during, or after filming, either of you gets involved in a scandal or embarrasses the show or network in any way, we have the right to terminate your contract without payment.”

  “Isn’t scandal and drama what you guys live for?”

  “That’s not on brand for you two. We’re pushing you as ‘girls next door.’ Girls should want to be you, and guys should want to bring you home to meet their moms,” Stella says with a wink. The urge to vomit resurfaces.

  “What about Lena’s story?” I ask Mom, remembering the MyStyle piece that’s supposed to run next month.

  “I’ve promised her an exclusive interview ahead of the show in exchange for scrapping the story,” Mom says. “She’s excited about it.”

  I turn back to Stella. “What’s the goal here? One or two seasons and then we’re done?” I can’t keep the note of hope out of my voice, and judging by Stella’s expression, she hears it too.

  “The goal is to make really great TV that lasts a long time. The two of you together will be ratings gold. And when that happens, you’ll become household names. We’re talking Kardashian-level fame. If you get a haircut, we want it on CNN.”

  Every feature on Poppy’s face lights up. “I’m sold.”

  “Wait.” I turn to Poppy, desperate to change her mind. “Do you really want to be like the Kardashians?”

  “Do I really want to be a business mogul with literally dozens of companies, products, TV shows, and franchises to my name? Yes.”

  “But why?” I shoot a look at Stella, wondering how much she knows, and lower my voice. “After what happened when we were younger, why would you put yourself in that position? You know how dangerous it can be.”

  “Influence. Power.” She signs the contract and slides it across the table to Stella, seizing her power and stealing mine with one swift movement.

  Stella pats my hand. “Take a few days to think about it. Whatever you need to feel comfortable with the idea.”

  Poppy’s obviously in heaven, but I have a feeling it’ll take more than a few days for me to feel comfortable with this.

  I knock on Poppy’s open door later that night. She’s wearing headphones and painting her toenails black and teal in preparation for the swim meet. She looks up, sees my bowl of ice cream, and points to the door.

  Instead of leaving, I sit in her desk chair and prop my feet up on her bed.

  “Want a bite?” I hold out a spoonful of Rocky Road. She always cuts sugar out of her diet before a big race, and she hates when I taunt her with it.

  She pulls off her headphones. “You’re the devil.”

  “I love you too,” I say through a mouthful.

  She shakes a bottle of teal toenail polish and props her foot on a textbook to protect her bed from the getting stained.

  I came to talk about the show, but I feel myself chickening out. I spin around in her chair, taking in her shelves of ribbons, trophies, and swim team pictures. This year’s picture earned a prime spot above her desk, and I feel a stab of sadness when I realize I’m not in it. It’s not that I miss swimming, but it’s weird that she’s doing it without me.

  But in reality, it’s not weird, because we’re not related. In another life, we’d just be two girls with dark hair who kind of resemble each other if you squint your eyes, not twins who spend nearly every waking moment together. I take a breath, and spin back to face her. “I don’t want to do the show.”

  She doesn’t look up from her toes. “Why not?”

  “I want to go to college.”

  “You can go to college.”

  “I want to go away.”

  “Then let’s go!” She moves her foot and flips open the history textbook until she finds a map of the United States in a chapter about the Louisiana Purchase. “Pick somewhere.” She pushes the book toward me.

  I push it back. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Make it a condition of signing your contract with STARR. I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re doing the show together.”

  Together.

  I close my eyes and imagine Poppy and I in a new city. San Francisco, Chicago, New Orleans. It doesn’t matter where. We’re sharing an apartment, or a dorm room, and I’m in school, and life is good. And then I pan out and see the cameras and the microphones and all the damn people intruding on my life. My heart beats faster just thinking about it.

  There’s no destination on any map, past or present, that would be enough to convince me to sign away my future. I have to make Poppy understand that. But how do I reject the future she’s planned for us without rejecting her?

  She puts the top back on the nail polish and blows on her toes. “Is this about Rafael?”

  I sit up, surprised by the change in direction. “No. Why?”

  “You never had a problem with our life until you met him.”

  “If you believe that, you haven’t been paying attention.” Does she honestly not remember all the photo shoots I grumbled my way through? All the times I tried to avoid filming our vlog? How uncomfortable I get any time I’m approached by someone I don’t know?

  “He went out with Olivia on Friday night.”

  “I know. They went to Boo! At the Zoo.”

  “No, they went to a movie.”

  A wave of relief rushes through me as I realize Rafael must have planned Boo! At the Zoo specifically for me. Just as quickly, however, the relief is replaced with unease. If they saw a movie, that means they sat next to each other, in the dark, for two solid hours. And I bet Olivia didn’t bring along her mom and sister for company. She probably giggled and twirled her hair and hid her face in his shoulder during the scary scenes. I put down my ice cream, no longer hungry.

  “He can see a movie with whoever he wants.” I don’t want Poppy to know how much the idea of Rafael and Olivia bothers me, but I sound too defensive.

  “I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes and stretches her legs out, smacking her feet against my bowl. “I know you don’t have any dating experience, and I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or to plan your future around someone who’s not interested.” Her voice drips with sarcasm as she rubs salt in an old wound.

  “At least I’m not sexting some guy I’ve never met.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Her eyes flash with anger. I’ve gone too far.

  “Did seeing Jackson make you finally realize he never liked you? And that you embarrassed yourself for years by following him around like a puppy dog?”

  The words hit my chest like oncoming traffic. That’s the thing about sisters, best friends, roommates, and especially someone who is all of the above. They know which words will hurt the worst. I have to say something, an
ything, to show her that she hasn’t hurt me, she hasn’t won. So I lie.

  “Actually, Jackson kissed me. He told me that moving away made him realize that he does have feelings for me.”

  Poppy narrows her eyes as she weighs the unlikelihood of what I said against the fact that we never lie to each other. “Then why have you been in such a bad mood all week?”

  “Because he left. Obviously.” I stare her down, refusing to blink first.

  She caves. “Good for you, I guess. I’ll tell Olivia that Rafael is all hers.” Jealousy flares in my stomach, and it takes all I have not to lash out against Poppy. “I was just trying to be a good sister.” She picks up her headphones.

  Her last words set off my alarm. It’s such a lie. She wasn’t trying to be a good sister. She was trying to get under my skin. And she’s not even your real sister, I remind myself. My heart is pumping faster now, and I know I shouldn’t say these next words but I say them anyway. “Don’t bother. We’re not really sisters anyway.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Please leave my room.”

  “I’m serious. And I can prove it.”

  Poppy closes the journal and tosses it on the bed, her face unreadable. I’m prepared for a meltdown. While she was reading, I retrieved a box of tissues from the bathroom and the bag of candy corn I keep in my desk drawer. I look at her expectantly. She doesn’t say or do anything. That’s when I begin to worry she’s in shock.

  “I know this is a lot to take in. I was stunned too.” I offer her the candy corn, thinking that now is as good a time as any to break her swim diet.

  She pushes the candy out of her face. “I don’t care.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t care. Why should I?” She doesn’t sound shocked or upset. She sounds bored.

  “Um, maybe because I just told you that our entire lives have been a lie.”

  She shrugs and bites her fingernail. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. I don’t want to know which one I am.”

  Typical Poppy, only looking at this from her point of view. “That’s because we both know you’re really a Dixon, and I’m the charity case our mom couldn’t refuse.”