12

I guess living with me for nineteen years has taught him a thing or two. But I’m sure the two or so years he lived before I came along were probably the happiest of his entire life. We might be siblings, but we couldn’t look any more different. He has lighter hair like our mom and his eyes are a carbon copy of Dad’s green ones. Where I’m muscular, he’s leaner, built like your next door neighbor or the college professor girls—and boys—can’t stop simping for. The good boy Gareth. The golden member and the future of the Carson family Gareth. Pathetic, neurotypical Gareth. “You’d have to be important for me to go out of my way and try to avoid you,” he says low enough for me to hear, then turns to Jeremy. “As I was saying, if they start talking, you’ll be the first one to be roped into this.” “Have you enjoyed your car’s new headlights enough?” I change the subject, then whisper, “Because they might disappear. With the whole car. While you sleep.” “Cameras are your worst enemy, Kill,” he t