“Shut up,” I say, hitting her with my pillow. “It’s comfortable.”
“I’ll help you find something cute,” Kayla insists, walking over to my closet.
She starts rifling through my clothes, pushing hangers and opening drawers. I can handle her energy when I’ve had just a few more minutes to myself, but right now, it’s a lot. I guess this is what it’s like to have a sibling—you love themandwant them out of your hair at the same time.
“I promise to look presentable,Mother,” I say.
She comes out of the closet, holding her hands up. “Fine, fine, do it yourself,” Kayla says. “But one day, people are going to pay me millions to pick their outfits! You’re gonna be sad you missed the chance.” She sticks her tongue out at me as she leaves.
I stand in the middle of my closet with determination. Grabbing denim overalls, a crop top, and a light jacket, I catch a glimpse of my uniform in the mirror. Kayla was right to laugh. The white initials,GH, have almost completely peeled away from the fabric.Why do I still have these? What exactly am I hanging on to?
My phone pings just as I head to the bathroom, and I run back to see who it is.
Deanna:
See you at the carnival!:) And I couldn’t sleep so you have lots of stuff in your dm’s lol.
Even though we text throughout the day, making jokes and exchanging running commentary on our lives, I never get tired of seeing her name on my screen when I wake up. She’s thegoodnightI always send before I slide my phone under my pillow to go to sleep.
I open IG and look at my messages. I spot Amari’s and open it quickly, thinking about deleting it, when I see that she’s typing. My heart leaps into my throat and I drop my phone on my bed. I know I have to say something to her but I’m not sure what, or how. I promise to figure it out when I get home.
“Breakfast!!” my mom yells from the kitchen. I wait to hear footsteps, expecting the usual thrown-open door. Nothing. I close the bathroom door behind me.Breakfast can wait.
By the time I get downstairs, the only thing left is a napkin-covered heap on the counter. Breakfast, apparently, didn’t wait. The opposite end of the counter is covered with snack packs, and the pantry door is wide open.
My mom pokes her head out. “Nice of you to finally join us,” she says flatly. Past her head, I see Travis and Kayla having what seems to be a heated conversation in the backyard. My mom moves in front of me with a questioning look.
“Oh, I was taking a bubble bath,” I blurt, hoping she’ll let my lateness slide because itwasher idea that I start making use of that “tub fit for a family of three.” My mom loves to make demands disguised as suggestions.
Her face softens and she looks down at my overalls. “That’s a cute outfitandI see you’re also finally wearing that necklace I got you,” she says, smiling.
“Yeah, it goes with this top,” I say with a shrug. I move my head to the side a little to see if Travis and Kayla are still arguing. They are. I’ve never actually seen Travis upset, much less with Kayla. I wonder what that’s about.
“They’ll be fine,” my mom says, adding, “it’s not easy raisingteenage girls.” She points to a covered plate by the stovetop before going back into the pantry. “That’s for you.”
I’m halfway through my plate when Kayla finally storms through the kitchen behind Travis.
“He’s mad for no reason! She should be able to come if she wants!” she screams, running upstairs.
My mom comes out of the pantry, her eyes wide. Travis leans on the counter with his back to me. Kayla’s door slams so hard that Mom jumps and I drop my fork. My mom looks at me and tilts her head toward the hallway. I get up and follow her into the sunroom.
“Let’s give them some space,” she says, but she goes right back into the kitchen, leaving me behind.
I head to my room, hoping to hear a little of what is going on. I catch something about Kayla’s mom. Is she in town? I wonder why Kayla hasn’t said anything to me.
At the top of the stairs, Kayla’s door is closed, as usual. It’s quiet except for the sound of sobbing. I’m afraid she’ll be upset that I’m intruding, but against my better judgment, I knock.
Kayla opens the door, looking more disappointed than angry. “Yeah?” she asks impatiently. Her mascara has all smudged up under her eyes.
I freeze. I’ve never seen her like this before. I want to say something helpful, but nothing is coming out. I blurt, “Better than the lockup clothes?” and spin around dramatically so she can see the whole look.
After what feels like forever, a slight smile spreads across her face. “Much better,” she says. Then her phone rings and the smile disappears as quickly as it showed up.
I take that as my cue to leave.
“Let’s go find the girls,” Kayla says as we climb out of my mom’s car a few hours later.
The dramatics of the morning have been smoothed over, but the atmosphere was still tense for most of the day. I’m glad to get away from our parents and be on our own.
