The made-up names of things, and the real names of the features of our lives I see from here were specific to a time and place shared only really by the two of us: the highways we drove on and the meals we ate and the stories we were read; snippets of songs by one-hit wonders; our intonations; our rhythms; the way a phrase rolled over when you said it in our father’s accent, like a happy puppy; the punch lines that weren’t punch lines that always cracked us up, confusing everyone; and the way we’d loop back to one another in every story that we told—the answers to each other’s questions (even unasked—even inconceivable)—enacting the strands of our shared DNA

**

One Wednesday in mid-November Amy comes home from class and finds Zoe making a fort out of the desk in her dorm room

One Wednesday in mid-November Amy comes home from class and finds Zoe making a fort out of the desk in her dorm room. When Zoe sees her sister she stops what she is doing and just stands there staring for a second, and then she bursts into tears.

Amy looks around. Both beds have been stripped to provide for the fort. On the inside Amy swells. She sets her backpack down on the cheap gray carpet, gets down on her knees and enters the fort. Zoe follows.

There is only one picture of their mom in her collection, and she is only half inside the frame

There is only one picture of their mom in her collection, and she is only half inside the frame. The right side of her body looms above the Battleship board, where Amy has just sunk her last ship. She was supposed to pose but didn’t want to; the upper right hand corner cuts off below her chin.

Ever since Zoe ran away from home their dad comes to visit at the Honors House, trying to broker an agreement between Zoe and their mom

Ever since Zoe ran away from home their dad comes to visit at the Honors House, trying to broker an agreement between Zoe and their mom. Amy supervises these meetings, experimenting with her face and carriage as she attempts to convey the maximum amount of disdain.

There are just a few problems with Zoe living with Amy now. The first problem is that Amy does not want Zoe to see her drunk. But after just a few days she misses the parties like she’s lost whatever all she gained by growing up, and she debates what to do with Katie, who is the only one who knows about Zoe. Some of the other girls have seen Zoe, like when she has to go to the bathroom, but she has been instructed to say she is just visiting. Katie knows the truth and helps Amy smuggle food out from the cafeteria, which is another problem, because it’s hard to feed a kid on dinner rolls and sugar cookies, and impossible to transport vegetables in one’s pockets.

The other thing is Zoe keeps on being in pain like she’ll get the flu but keeps not getting it, and she is running out of the Tylenol she brought in her bag she packed to run away from home. And they don’t tell their dad but she is having seizures, too—worse and worse ones, more and more often. They don’t tell their dad that Zoe’s heart keeps racing, either, sometimes even waking her up during the night.

The other thing is Zoe misses the dog, which makes her get tempted sometimes to hear their father’s nonsense, even though it is clear he is on their mother’s side.

The good thing is that Amy reads her textbooks now, to Zoe in the evenings, to keep her entertained. There are so many things they can’t talk about, like Sasha, that all of Amy’s undone homework turns out to be a blessing. The best is the Introduction to Marine Biology, which they are doing chapter by chapter, in order. But just when they’re about to get to the part about octopuses, which they have both been looking forward to, Zoe has a seizure she can’t come out of, and although every muscle in her body strains against it, there is something else in Amy’s brain that makes her call their parents. And just like that they drive right up to campus and carry Zoe off in their car.

On Thanksgiving at their grandparents’ they have turkey and stuffing, rehydrated potato flakes, and cranberry sauce slid straight out of the can, with the grooves still in it, jiggling

On Thanksgiving at their grandparents’ they have turkey and stuffing, rehydrated potato flakes, and cranberry sauce slid straight out of the can, with the grooves still in it, jiggling. They have sweet potatoes with marshmallows, which Zoe can’t eat because sweet potatoes look like orange homemade Play-Doh, which made her sick once when she ate too much of it when she was little. Zoe does eat, on the other hand, the entire bottle of aerosol whipped cream, spraying it directly into her mouth. The crime is not discovered until it is time to eat the pumpkin pie, and by then the stores are closed. Zoe does not get in trouble now, but no one is particularly happy.

The girls watch old Cary Grant movies, each curled up with their heads at opposite ends of the couch, their feet almost but not touching, and it’s alright, but Zoe laughs and cries too much. Amy says she has homework to do, and Zoe says so does she. Amy rolls her eyes. Zoe bursts into tears.

On the day after Thanksgiving their dad says he has an announcement to make. They are back at their grandparents’ eating leftovers. They put their forks down and look at each other and then at him. Although it’s been a hard decision, says their dad, and Amy’s sure he’s going to say that he and their mom are getting a divorce, but looking at her mom it doesn’t look like that, so then she wonders, and their dad clears his throat and says, I have decided to accept a job in Minnesota, at the Rochester Community and Technical College. It’s too good of an offer to pass up, he says, and the best part of it is it has full medical for all of us, and the hospital in Rochester is one of the top ten hospitals in the whole world.

In the hush that follows all the things on the earth come unstuck and fly off into space very fast. Amy sees Zoe off in the distance against a black black sky, smaller and smaller and smaller.