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they’ll get money from selling the store, right?” I asked.
    â€œYeah, some,” she whispered, stretching out her long string bean self into a straight line along the bed. She pointed her toes hard, then lifted her legs in a straight line up toward the ceiling. She extended her arms past her ears, so her long fingers tickled the headboard. I’ve fallen asleep hearing these stretches above me forever. “But after they pay off all their debts, how much will be left?”
    I stretched out beside her, my jock body heavier, thicker, less bendy. But my feet, unlike hers, could flatten against the ceiling. Good calf stretch.
    â€œYou should come up with a talent,” Margot suggested. “You don’t get college scholarships for popularity, and no way they’ll be able to pay.”
    â€œUgh,” I said. “College. That’s a million years away.”
    â€œIt’s not,” Margot whispered, smooth and nearly silent. “Wake up. And especially with Corey’s therapy, there’s not likely to be a lot left over for you.”
    â€œI know,” I whispered back. Still. Eighth grade. I have forever. I do.
    We listened to the
thunk
of the basketball against the hoop in the driveway, Dad out there working with Corey. He’ll have more time at home now, once the store gets sold. Mom, too. And something else will turn up. They’re hardworking. Good people find a way. That’s what they’d said, after they broke the news to us this afternoon about selling the store. We’ll have to hold off on some extras for a while, but we’ll find work and pull through. We’ve got each other. We’re the richest people in town that way. We’ll be all right.
    My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Clay, asking how I did on the math test and if my parents would be mad. Yeah, like they’d care about my math test at this point. Way bigger fish to fry. But I just said,
they never ask.
    â€œYou still in love with Clay?” Margot asked after I’d gone back and forth texting him a few times.
    â€œNo,” I lied. “You still in love with JT?”
    â€œNo,” she lied.
    â€œCool,” I said as phone buzzed again. “So we’re all good.”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    We lay there beside each other until dinner not talking, our bodies parallel, our feet on the ceiling.

CLAY
    MY BROTHER JT got an 800 on his math SATs and a 5 on his calculus AP test. Those are the best scores you can get. He graduated first in his class. He won multiple awards at graduation, was editor in chief of the school paper, and played varsity soccer. He got into his first choice of college early.
    Everybody is impressed with him. Including me. He’s my favorite person, which doesn’t make me unique. Girls all want to go out with him, and probably some guys do, too. He’s the nicest guy I know. He volunteered at the soup kitchen every Sunday morning all through high school with Dad. He has inside jokes with pretty much everybody, including some of the soup kitchen regulars. Also teachers.
    So how do I break it to my parents that I just got a 78 on my math test?
    I know they think I’m not as smart and not as hardworking as JT. They’re totally justified; it’s the truth. I’m not. JT doesn’t get distracted by reading the entire Internet or playing Xbox for hours at a time or texting with a girl who is not his girlfriend and never will be because she’s his best friend. Well, first of all because his best friend is a guy. A guy who is my best friend’s older brother. And they wouldn’t text each other more than, like,
Want to go get some pizza? Sure meet you in 10.
    Not like me and Brooke. We can go on texting each other for an hour or more at a time. She got an 89 on the math test. And her parents are completely chill about grades, so 89 is fine.
    I don’t even know if mine are chill about grades or aren’t. They