Free The Third Twin by Cj Omololu Page A

because he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You said you had something we needed to talk about?”
    I lick some powdered sugar off my finger, then look up into his blue eyes. Once the words about Alicia are out of my mouth, I won’t be able to take them back—maybe Ava’s a little bit right. I shrug and shake my head. “It was nothing.”

I glance down at my phone and hit IGNORE , despite the pang of guilt that follows. It’s Dad again, calling from the land of lions and tigers and sketchy cell service. I can’t talk to him about Stanford right now. I can barely think about it without a wave of hopelessness washing over me. I have no idea how I’m going to tell him I failed. He pulled himself up from nothing to be a very big something, donating millions of dollars to endless good causes and changing thousands of lives in the process. I’ve had it easy, and I can’t even do a simple thing like get accepted to Stanford. How can I tell him that I’m not good enough for his alma mater? Not good enough to run his company? Not good enough to be his daughter?
    I stare at the open page on my phone like I have been for the past hour, Casey’s picture on the funeral announcement staring right back at me. Glancing at the clock, I see that Istill have time to make it. Maybe I should—some part of me seems to need closure. Go. Go. Go.
    “Who was that?” Cecilia asks from the other side of the couch. She nods at my hand. “On the phone?”
    I turn the phone so she can’t see what I’ve been looking at. “Nobody.”
    “If you say so.” She grabs a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table and points to the TV. “It’s just that you’ve been so distracted lately. You’re not even paying attention now.”
    I glance up at the telenovela on the screen. She’s right. I have no idea what’s going on, and usually I love
Fuego y Hielo.
Dad tried to teach us Spanish when we were little and Cecilia’s fluent, but these days I can barely follow along on TV. “Why is Fernando at the beach? I thought he was in the city with Maria?”
    Cecilia sighs and hands me the remote. She refuses to use it, saying that all the buttons are too confusing. “Want to go back?”
    “No. Thanks,” I say, standing up. “I just need to get out of the house for a little while.”
    “Is everything okay?” she asks. “You’ve been acting funny lately.”
    “Fine,” I manage, just before my voice starts to break. “Thanks.” I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek, then quickly turn away so she can’t see my face.
    I’m dressed in jeans and an old fleece jacket, so I quickly change into the black dress I wore when Abuelo died a coupleof years ago, and sneak out of the house through the garage. I don’t bother with the Alicia makeup or heels. I just want to be another anonymous teenager at a tragic funeral.
    By the time I pull into the parking lot, I can tell that the church is totally packed. I manage to find a space in the very back, and as I lock the car, I notice two cops in a police car sitting a few rows away. I wonder what they’re doing here—expecting trouble at a funeral? Probably just paying their respects. Casey’s death seems to have hit everyone hard.
    I take my place in the line of people still waiting to get in, behind a soccer team in full uniform. I knew Casey for only one night, but it’s hard to reconcile the sneering guy I met with the compassionate, handsome boy in the picture that’s propped up on an easel in the lobby. An older couple is stationed by the main double doors, the woman with her face red from crying and the man with his back ramrod straight as he greets the newcomers. Must be his parents. I turn and am heading for a side door to avoid them, when a woman with long, graying hair grabs my hands.
    “Alicia!” she says with a sad smile. “I’m so glad you came.” She glances toward the older couple. “Such a sad, sad day for all of us.”
    I’m so surprised, I can’t think of