Jessica slowly meanders down the hill and you follow her. The grass feels prickly and hot under your bare feet. She continues to walk until she finds the old shaded arbor overgrown with roses. The wicker bench you two played on as children still stands, albeit worn from the seasons. Jessica sweeps her long skirt under her and daintily sits. You do too. She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on her knees.

“When was the last time we sat like this, Krys?” she asks softly, eyes focused faraway.

You shrug and lean back against the plaits of the bench.

“It must’ve been when I left my company,” your sister continues. You can almost taste the bitterness in her voice, from the way her lips curl scornfully around the words ‘my company.’

“What’re you getting at?” you ask impatiently. You want to go back to Amber, and you can’t see where this conversation is leading.

But Jessica really lets out a deep sigh and you find yourself suddenly reaching for her hand as tears start to fall from her eyes.

“I lied to you,” she chokes, tears tracking down her face. “I didn’t leave my company. They—they kicked me out.”

Icy shock courses through you as Jessica buries her face in her arms. Jessica, kicked out?

There was no way.

She was a musical prodigy, scouted by a huge record label. They had placed her in a girl group and everything seemed set for a spectacular debut when suddenly she announced she was leaving. At the time, you told her you supported her no matter what. Your parents were less happy—all those years of careful networking and grooming had amounted to nothing. And to add insult to injury, she ran off to China with a strange tycoon named Tyler Kwon.

At least that only lasted for two years before she returned to the States.

You scoot closer to her and wrap yourself around her shaking frame when she begins to cry in earnest. You’ve only seen your sister break down like this twice in your entire life—the first was when she took the blame for you after you cracked the priceless mosaic your parents had shipped over from Italy to decorate the kitchen, and the second was when she found out she got into the music college of her choice.

You two sit together as the sun traces a path down from its zenith. After another few moments, she gently pushes you away and straightens her back. Even after that, her eyes are barely red, skin flawless as usual.

“Sorry,” Jessica mutters with a shaky laugh as she carefully pats her eyes dry with the tip of tissue she pulled from her pocket.

“No, it’s fine, we’re sisters,” you say as warmly as you can. “We’ve got each other’s backs.”

She nods once, with a sort of decisiveness, before turning to you.

“They voted me out, my other bandmates,” she starts quietly. “They knew I wasn’t really into music.”

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