Free Everything That Makes You by Moriah McStay Page A

nothing alike. Marcus was creamy-skinned and slight. He had light brown eyes to Jackson’s green. They seemed roughly the same height—close to six feet, she’d guess—but Jackson had football player shoulders. Tall, dark, and handsome, her mother would say. Too bad he was such a jerk.
    Fi shook her head. “We’re not twins. Well, Irish twins, but that doesn’t count.”
    â€œWhat’s an Irish twin?” Marcus asked, his head tilted cutely to the side.
    â€œWe’re ten months apart.”
    â€œAh.” He laughed. Jackson sighed noticeably.
    Marcus shoulder-nudged his brother, but kept his eyes on Fi. “Y’all go to West?”
    â€œNo, Union. You?”
    â€œHomeschool.”
    She’d never known anyone who was homeschooled. “That’s cool,” she lied.
    Another awkward silence threatened as Fi noticed that, in addition to being nice, Marcus was a creep-up-on-you-slowlykind of cute. Soft hazel-brown eyes and smooth, fair skin, offset by that jet-black hair. She stopped caring what Jackson was doing. “So, what happens at open mic night?” she asked.
    It only took half a minute to explain, but it was the perfect opening for everything else. He asked about her cast, which led to a surprisingly heartache-free discussion of lacrosse. He didn’t know much about it, a refreshing break from Trent.
    â€œIt was created by Native Americans,” she said. “They used it to train their men as warriors.”
    â€œI just finished a book about that. Kind of,” he said, giving a quick summary about how different tribes reacted to early settlers.
    His hazel eyes lit up when he spoke, and his whole face smiled. She’d never been so captivated by the struggle of native peoples.
    She talked about getting her grades up in time for college applications. She told him about Northwestern.
    â€œHey! Jackson’s applying there, too.” He poked his brother in the ribs.
    Jackson acknowledged this with a brief nod. Fi nodded, too—then turned back to Marcus.
    â€œWhat’s the book?” she asked, pointing to the dog-eared paperback on the table.
    â€œ Selected Essays of Jean-Paul Sartre .” He held it up, showing her the cover. “If no one went onstage, I was going to read from it.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” she said.
    â€œSeriously. Look.” Flopping it open, he read, “ One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one’s death, one dies one’s life. ” He laughed and put the book back on the table. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Probably better for everyone I didn’t follow through.”
    â€œYou like to read?”
    â€œLove it.” He’d just reread the Lord of the Rings trilogy and told her some jokes she didn’t get. Even though he was homeschooled, they followed the local school curriculum, so they talked about some of the books they’d read for English this year—the Faulkner short stories, The Sun Also Rises, The Grapes of Wrath.
    An hour later, ten people had taken the microphone and left it, but neither of them noticed. Fi had no idea whether Jackson had paid attention—she’d tuned him out.
    She turned when Ryan nudged her shoulder. “Mom just called. She’s freaking that you’re out.”
    Crap. “It was your idea,” she said.
    â€œWe gotta go. Let me say bye to Gwen.” Then he walked away, completely forgetting she couldn’t walk on her own.
    Fi pushed herself up. “Sorry.” She gestured to her leg. “Usually he’s a little nicer, but could you, uh . . .”
    â€œSure.” Marcus got up, offering his arm.
    Jackson stood up so suddenly that the table and mugs shook. He came to her other side, his arm similarly outstretched. “Here, take mine,” he said.
    The boys shared a look before Marcus sighed and steppedaway. Having