“I guess I have to learn how to be an actual sister now.

I hear it’s a lot like being a mannequin, except you occasionally get to move.”

And Renee pressed the Polaroid into my palm, folding my fingers over the two young women in front of the Buick.

“Keep this where you’ll see it every day,” she said, my own future face looking down at me, steady as a level.

“Not to remember what she did.

To remember where the toxic script finally ends.