Everyone has always said I look like Bailey, but I don't. I have gray eyes to her green, an oval face to her heart-shaped one, I'm shorter, scrawnier, paler, flatter, plainer, tamer. All we shared is a madhouse of curls that I imprison in a ponytail while she let hers ravelike madness around her head. I don't sing in my sleeper eat the petals off flowers or run into the rain instead of out of it. I'm the unplugged-in one, the side-kick sister, tucked into a corner of her shadow. Boys followed her everywhere;they filled the booths at the restaurant where she waitressed, herded around her at the river. One day, I saw a boy come up behind herald pull a strand of her long here understood this-I felt the same way. In photographs of us together, she is always looking at the camera, and I am always looking at her.

The Sky Is Everywhere