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There are five of them. I did my homework. Five sisters.

I watched them for weeks before I ever dreamed of approaching them. I know where they go and who they see. I know what their work schedules look like. I even know when they have their periods.

Yeah, I might have looked through their trash a time or two, trying to find out as much as I can before I make my move. And it wasn’t easy, with all the security they have. It’s like walking up on the White House at times. But I did it.

Now I finally know enough to tell them I’m here.

My biological sisters are the easy ones. They call themselves Star and Wren, but when I knew them they were Jessica and Jenny. They now have the last name of Vasquez. But they will always be Taggerts, no matter how far they travel, how famous they get, or how much they change. No matter how much money they make, they will still be my sisters. My blood.

The others are more of a mystery. There’s Peck, and she’s the drummer. She just married Sam Reed, the reality TV star and retired pro football player, and they are about to have a baby. She has a really bad speech impairment, and she struggles to talk in public. Just hearing her try to talk on TV makes me cringe for her. Well, more for me than for her. But still.

Then there’s Lark. She’s the keyboard player. She’s also a self-professed germ freak and she wears long elbow-length gloves everywhere she goes. But I have a feeling the gloves are about more than just germs. And I have a bigger feeling that she doesn’t want anyone to know it. She’s not a germ freak. Something happened to her and she hides it behind fabric and color. I can relate. I hide my past too. I hide it really well. So well that I’m not even sure who I am most days.

Then there’s Finch. Fin. Finny, they call her. She’s lead guitarist in their band. She’s also famous for her one-night stands. She’s as famous for them as she is for her music. And her music is pretty darn fabulous. She’s tiny, but curvy, and watching her butt shake as she walks down the street makes me want to stick my tongue in all her wet places every time I see her. But I have to shove my wants to the side.

I have an image I’ve cultivated. A face I show to the rest of the world, and it’s the face I have to show my sisters so they’ll let me in.

I iron my button-down shirt and shake it out in front of the motel mirror. I spent my last thirty dollars on this room, just so that I could get ready to go to them. I pull my jeans on and slide my feet into some sneakers. I bought all this stupid stuff at Goodwill for less than four dollars. Then I spent eight quarters washing it at the Laundromat. I button my shirt up high and put on the blue tie, which is already threatening to choke me.

I pick up my duffle bag and glance around the room to be sure I didn’t forget anything. Nothing here is mine. I step into the bathroom and grab the free soap and shampoo samples. No idea when I’ll see a shower again, so I might need them. I can wash my hair in a rest stop bathroom, if push comes to shove. I stuff them into the front pocket of the duffle bag.

Now it’s time to go and find my sisters. I know where they live. I’ve watched them come and go for weeks, so I know their schedules as well as they do. They’re not touring right now since Peck is about to have a baby.

I wait for residents to go into their apartment building, and I slip through the door just before it closes. I pretend like I belong here, even though this swanky building with its fancy doorman isn’t anything like where I come from. I walk beside one of the building’s residents and pretend to talk to her so the doorman will think I’m with her. I don’t want him to stop me.

The woman regards me with interest. She likes me. I can tell. But I’m on a mission. I ignore her when she keeps talking. I got what I wanted from her, which was entry into the building. She’s expendable, and she’s aware of it. She flounces off the elevator at her stop and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I go up a few more levels, stop outside their door, and drop my bag to the floor. I force myself to halt and take a deep breath. The door opens and it’s like falling back in time.

“Jess,” I breathe.

She startles and stumbles into the doorframe. I reach out a hand to catch her, but she jerks herself back at the last minute.

I smile at her. “Hi,” I say.

She slams the door in my face. The cool rush of air smacks hard against me and I force myself not to throw open the door and chase her into the room.

I knock. No one comes to the door. I know she’s in there. There’s not another exit, not that I’m aware of. I knock again and lean my forehead against the cool metal. “Please,” I whisper.

The door flies open and I nearly stumble into the room. I catch myself on the doorjamb and look at Jess’s face.

“Hi,” I say again, like an idiot.

“Go away,” she says. Then she ducks under my arm and passes me in the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Wait,” I call. “Can we talk?”

She turns back to face me and points her finger at my nose. “Talk? Talk?” She shrieks the last word. “After all this time, you suddenly want to talk?”

I nod. “Yes. Please.”

“No.” She turns and stalks down the corridor.

“Come on, Jess–”

She turns back and advances on me so fast that I retreat, my back striking the door. “My name is Star. And you would know that if you had returned any of the letters I sent to you over the years, you jackass.”

“What letters?” I never got any letters.