“I don't want to talk about it,” I inform an open-mouthed, overly curious Fleur when she bursts in the door mere minutes after Ty steps out. She must have been lying in wait.

“But—”

“No. I can't. I'm still half convinced I'm dreaming all of this and would prefer to stick my head in the sand for at least a few more hours. Please let me have this,” I beg.

Fleur doesn't reply, so I press my hands together and make the most pitiful face I can. It works.

“Fine, but prepare for a full-fledged interrogation later.”

I salute her and then quickly leave, grabbing my backpack on the way out. Once outside, though, I'm at a loss for what to do. Anywhere on campus, I might run into Ty. Another time, I'd be able to hide out at the gallery, but since I quit that job, I've got nothing but time on my hands.

I guess I could sketch. I find an empty bench near the Science II building and pull out my notebook. I haven't done much since the last time Ty looked at it.

The bunny is hiding in the bushes while the farmer searches.

“Poor bunny,” I croon as I sketch the outline of the fence in the next panel. “I know just how you feel. Trapped and helpless.”

After several minutes of drawing, I have everything done in the scene. The bunny's face is peeking out from under a lettuce leaf. The farmer's shadow is shading the bunny's face. A net is held at the ready. It doesn't look right. With the fence to the one side and a rock on the other, there's nowhere for the bunny to go but forward.

I've drawn myself into a literal corner.

I erase the net in the farmer's hand and replace it with a stick.

“The farmer wants to have you for dinner as punishment for eating all his delicious leaves,” I inform the bunny.

The bunny's eyes fill with tears. I erase the stick. I should've drawn some friends for Blinkie. They could distract the farmer. I slap down a few more lines and then take a look at my product.

Oh boy. I've drawn a knight on a horse, and he’s wielding a big sword. Even in my doodles, I can't get away from Ty. This is no good. I trade my paper notebook for my electronic one to see if there are any new job openings.

Unsurprisingly, there are not. Gallery assistants are not in high demand, particularly outside of New York City. At this rate, I'm not going to get hired, which means I'll graduate and be unemployed.

Do I regret quitting Marissa's place?

I ponder that for all of two seconds. No. I can't say that I do even if Marissa hates me. I’m not sure why I stayed in the first place other than to give myself some résumé padding. If I wasn't going to put my dad down on there, I had to have something else to show prospective employers.

A girl with an art history degree doesn't have a ton of options. Is it too soon to send a follow-up email to the Philly gallery? They said they would call me, but it's been a month since my interview. I open my email tab and as I'm composing a polite but hopefully encouraging email, my phone rings.

I pick it up without thinking.

“Hello?” a familiar male voice says.

“Oh, is this Knox?” I wonder why Ty's brother is calling me.

“How did you know?”

“I can tell,” I say absently, tapping my fingers against the tablet's screen. Should I type, I'm anxious to hear back? No. ‘Anxious’ sounds bad. How about ‘excited.’ Yeah, that sounds better.

“You…can…tell? Does Ty know this?” Accusation hangs heavy in Knox's voice.

And that’s when I realize what I've done.

Pulse racing, I scramble for an explanation. “Um, does Ty know what?” I laugh, high and anxious. “That I can tell when it's you who calls? Of course I can tell it's you. Your name shows up on my phone. Doesn't your phone work that way?”

He hesitates, and then, to my relief, buys in. “Oh, yeah, right.”

I swipe a metaphorical hand across my forehead in relief. “What can I do for you?”

“Can we meet at the Bean Factory?”

I stare at my unfinished email. “Sure. Are you here on campus?”

“Yes. I was—am, I mean. I’m visiting Ty.”

“Are we getting together? Ty didn't mention it.”

“Ah, yeah, well, he doesn't know yet.”

“Is this a surprise party? Because your birthday isn't until June.”

“Nope. I just want to see your pretty face is all.”

Uh-huh. I don't believe that for a second.

* * *

Knox stands up as I enter the café. All eyes swerve to his frame and then to mine. I'm used to the phenomenon—I've been friends with Ty for four years. It's the same for him. He commands attention and it's hard to look away from him.

I give Knox a finger wave, grab a cup of coffee, and join him.

“Thanks for meeting me.” He gives me a half hug and gestures for me to take a seat.

“Sure, but why are we keeping it a secret from Ty? Are we throwing him a pre-draft party? I don't think he'd really enjoy that. He's still on his no-fun food diet, and who wants a party with wheat germ shots and chickpea crackers?”

Knox looks interested. “Chickpea crackers?”

These athletes. I hold up a hand. “It was a rhetorical question for which I will provide the answer. No person with actual taste buds wants a party like that. Besides, you know Ty doesn't like surprise things.”

“It's not a surprise party.” He cocks his head. “How do you know I'm not Ty? We got the same haircut recently.”

“I know. He told me that you both got it cut like a couple days apart.” I shake my head. “You twins are weird.”

“But you do know it's me.” He doesn't elaborate. It's like he's testing me, which is annoying.

“I know it's you because you asked me to meet you here. Plus, you’re not wearing glasses.” I say it slowly so he can comprehend it better.

“Ty’s glasses are mostly for show. He hardly ever wears them. Like right now, I could be Ty not wearing glasses to see if you guess wrong.”

How mad would Ty be if I slapped his brother? I corral my violent tendencies and try to use words to explain this. “I know you two like your little games such as when you wore the wrong uniform for the SI cover shoot or when you played the trick on poor Ellie, trying to make her think she was going to marry the wrong twin. You're lucky she has a good sense of humor.”

Knox examines me. “She's the only one who can tell us apart all of the time. Even my mom has problems, but not Ellie. She could get it right blindfolded. Mom always said you had to marry the girl who could tell you apart.” His words take on a speculative tone.

Time to nip this in the bud. “Good thing you wifed her up then, isn't it?” I mimic his folded hands and lean toward him. “What's this all about? I've got people to see and places to go, so can we get to the actual point?”

It looks like he wants to say one thing but then wisely changes his mind. “Ty's mad at me.”

I sip my coffee. “I know.”

“Then you know why, too?”

“Sure. You were probably telling him all about how you know best because you've been in the league for a year. You are also likely trying to sell him on the idea that now that he's punted Dana to the curb, you guys can be repped by the same agent and marketed as a pair, which is essentially a suggestion that he doesn't have any economic value individually.” At least that's my guess.

Knox scowls and confirms everything. “That's not what I said at all. I told him that we could leverage the fact that we’re twins into endorsements that wouldn't be available if he was just a rookie.”

“He might get number one.”

“And he might get three. Or five. Or ten. This is a deal that isn't contingent on his draft placement.”

“You're right. It's a deal that is contingent on his twinness, something he isn't responsible for and didn't work hard all his life to achieve.”

Knox makes a frustrated sound. “I want what's best for him, too.”

“Don't we all? If this deal is right for both of you, Ty will come around, but insulting him or treating him like he's somehow inferior to you isn't the way to do it.”

“I'm not treating him like that,” Knox protests.

“I think you once said 'I've played on Sundays and you haven't.' Right?”

Knox pales.

I forge forward. “You're right that he's not inferior. He could have declared last year just like you. And just like you, he would have been drafted in the top five. But he wanted to win the Championship and risked his entire NFL career for that. If he'd been injured, if he'd had some other bad luck, that could've been it for him. He stayed for his team so that they'd win. For some of his teammates, that National Championship was the last time they’d lace on those pads. It was a sacrifice for him. He's not your inferior in any way, so don't treat him like he is. He doesn't deserve anything but praise and admiration.”

Knox could tattle on me. He could tell Ty that I was rude to him. That I was disrespectful. But at this point I don't care. Ty would never, ever say anything bad to his brother, but Knox needs to be told. I'm fine with being the one to take the bad guy role.

“I'm a dick.” He sighs and performs the patented Masters neck rub, an action I know well. Ty does it, too, when he's frustrated or trying to gather patience. That and the hair move.

Both are sexy as fuck when Ty does it. I'm unmoved by Knox. How can anyone get these two mixed up?

“So what should I do?” Knox asks finally.

“Lay off,” I say bluntly. “He's smart. He'll make the right decisions. He just wants to do it in his own time so he knows that they're his decisions. You two are twins and all, but he's still his own person.”

Knox's eyes start glowing in a freaky way. “Yes, he is.”

His voice lowers a register and he gives me a strange, non-sexual but still invasive once-over. I resist the urge to squirm.

“Does he know?” Knox asks slowly.

“Know what?”

“That you can tell us apart.”

Dammit. “Are we back to that again?” I exhale a big put-upon sigh.

He smirks at me. “Yup, we're back to that again.”

“I see now you're the slow one in the family. I've told you before that you were obviously not Ty because of how you act. He's not going to call me up on your phone and ask me to meet at the Bean Factory. We locals call it the coffeehouse. And he's not going to ask me silly questions like this.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” I get to my feet, because I can't sit with Knox another minute without giving myself away. “It was good we had this chat.”

“I'm glad to have spent some quality time with you, Ara.” He smirks again.

Definitely not Ty. He's not a smirker. I start to walk away when a large hand clamps around my wrist.

I look down. “Yes?”

“If you won't tell him, I will. Ty deserves to know.”

“Tell him what?” I bluster.

“He deserves to know you can tell us apart.”

I grow angry. What is with everyone and their cousin trying to interfere with my friendship with Ty? It's like they want to separate us.

“I want Ty to like me for who I am, not because of some mystical voodoo crap he doesn't even believe in,” I retort.

Instead of being offended by my angry tone, Knox smiles and releases me. “So you do like him.” He winks. “I knew it.”

“You're a smug bastard.”

“Love you too, sis.”

“I'm not your sis.”

“You will be.”

“I have a real urge to smack you, but instead I'll be the bigger person and leave.”

“We have Christmas early, just FYI!” he yells after me. “And I like the Supreme brand, if you're wondering what to get me.”

Flipping him off isn't very satisfying, but it is all I have at the moment.