Brothers.
Those are good-looking genes. I could understand the rivalry and the pressure... to be perfect.
"Jake," the teacher called on him.
We were in English Lit. Jake was sitting next to me, writing something in a worn notebook. I'd been replaying yesterday in my mind, from the way he talked about Luke to how patient he was with me. "Mr Dawson!" the teacher repeated. The sound of his name was like an itch on my skin. He was a Dawson too. How did I not put two and two together earlier? I wanted to pinch myself for being so oblivious. The class waited on Jake to respond. I realized how deeply he was concentrating in whatever he was doing and nudged his knee. He looked over at me, and I led his gaze to the teacher standing in front of him.
"Jake, why does Shakespeare introduce comedy w
