The last time she had seen Angelica, her twin sister had been sixteen and so Abby could only refer to her own face to imagine what an older Angie might have looked like. However, her subconscious seemed to have no difficulty summoning up a believable image. In keeping with the usual strangeness of dream logic, they were both grown up but back in their old shared room in South Meadow. Abby was on her side of the room. Her suitcase was open on her bed though she wasn’t sure where she was going. She packed all the same, folding her clothes with an agitated urgency. Angie was on the other side, lounging on her own bed, watching with that look of smugness she had been wearing so frequently in her last days set firmly on her face. Angie was speaking, Abby realized, in that way you realize things in dreams, but whatever her twin sister was saying, Abby couldn’t hear it. And Abby was beginning to understand that she couldn’t hear Angie because she didn’t want to. At sixteen, Angie had taken her free-spiritedness to a whole new level.
