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possible to work too hard.
    â€œWe won’t,” I singsonged.
    â€œMay I?” Marcus lifted his eyebrows at the plate of brownies.
    â€œTake as many as you like, sweetheart,” Mom said, her blue eyes twinkling. The easiest way to get my mother to love you is to compliment her cooking, so basically she thought Marcus was a little piñata of joy.
    â€œNuestras pasteles son tuyas pasteles,” Laura said. Whatever that meant. Laura speaks Spanish, and sometimes she just throws these things into conversation. That’s why I take Latin—it’s a dead language, so I never have to speak it and make other people feel like jerks when they have no idea what I’m talking about.
    â€œGod, you’re amazing,” What’s-his-name said to my sister.
    â€œNo, you’re amazing,” Laura countered, and then the whole round of cuddling started all over again.
    â€œOoo-kaaay,” I said, walking out the door. “We’ll check you guys later.”
    â€œDinner is at eight!” Mom called after me.
    â€œAnd don’t be late!” Dad rhymed.
    â€œIt’s a date!” Marcus joined in, and I glared at him. “Sorry,” he whispered as we walked up the stairs to my room. “Reflex.”
    â€œGod, Marcus, maybe we can just trade families,” I griped as I tossed my fake-fur bag onto my unmade bed and shut the door. My room is the only one in the house that Mom doesn’t touch. I convinced her a long time ago that if I kept the door closed, we could all just pretend that it was as tidy as the rest of the house, which would be easier than arguing about it. “Sometimes I think they love you better than me, anyway.”
    â€œOh, come on,” Marcus said as he tidied my bed and then sat down on it gingerly. “They’re so nice. And you have the best house—”
    â€œIf you’re into neutral tones from the Crate and Barrel catalog,” I shot back. Stabbing a finger at my computer, I booted up and flopped into my desk chair. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with the Perfects.” Okay, this was only partially fair. I do love my mom and dad. And they really are sweet and supportive and all that stuff. It’s just that sometimes I feel like I was switched at birth. My parents are totally into hard work, cleanliness, and clothes from J. Crew, and Laura’s just like them. But I’m totally into movies, hanging out, and clothes from my favorite store, Buy the Pound, where they actually put the used clothing on a scale and you pay a dollar for each pound of stuff. “I mean, seriously—Mom and Dad have been together since they were seniors in high school, and Laura’s been with What’s-his-name—”
    â€œSteve,” Marcus prompted.
    I rolled my eyes. “I know his name is Steve,” I snapped. “That’s not the point. The point is, he could be anybody. Laura has always had a boyfriend—from the minute she set foot in high school, there has always been a guy by her side. And if she ever breaks up with this one, there will be another one waiting to take his place. This is a family of perfect love—and I can’t even talk to Jeffrey Osborne!”
    â€œYou will talk to Jeffrey,” Marcus said confidently. “Laura hasn’t got anything you haven’t got.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” I demanded, typing in my favorite web address. My sister and I are polar opposites. I inherited my dad’s beaky nose and my mom’s plump curves, while Laura got the opposite package—Dad’s tall, slender form and Mom’s soft, feminine features. Also, I’ve got Dad’s swarthy Mediterranean skin and dark hair, while Laura is like Mom—blue eyes, blond hair. Plus, Laura has perfect skin, perfect grades, and never seems to spill anything on herself.
    Marcus flipped idly through a copy of Vogue that had been lying half under a throw