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“Hello?” my white-haired brother asks.

“Hello?” I ask back.

“Whatcha need, Al? I’m kind of busy.”

I squint at my daisy-shaped alarm clock. It reads 9:00 AM.

“Busy with what? Nobody gets tattooed at 9:00 AM.”

“Busy with all the parts of my business that aren’t stabbing people,” he suggests.

“Huh.” Color me shocked.

“Did you call to question my work ethic? Because that was on the pros list of my attributes, I’ll have you know. I’m an incredibly hard worker, and I always have been. No one can argue it.”

“Someone could,” I disagree, just to be contrary. I figure it’s my right as his little sister and current headache-haver. “That’s not the point, though. I’m returning your calls.”

“My calls?” His voice rings confusion. “I didn’t call you.”

Uh… “Yes, you did.”

Simultaneously, light dawns. “Amia,” we say in unison.

“She’s at school now,” he informs me. “She must’ve tried to get you before she left. Don’t know why she didn’t tell me she was using my phone, though…” He trails off, fatherly plans to chat with his daughter filling the line with tension not meant for me.

I scrunch my nose. “You were probably in the bathroom fluffing your hair or something. You expect her to wait for you to finish if she needs to talk to her dear, favorite aunt? You would create such a barrier?”

“I expect her to respect phone rules,” he answers dryly.

I huff. “Silly of you. When a girl needs her aunt, she needs her aunt.” Especially when that girl hasn’t had a mother for eight years. She has Leora now, but the first almost-decade of her life, all she had was my mom, me, and friends like Poem who were willing to step up for a little girl. The bond is formed. Whatever her budding stepmother-daughter relationship with Leora, she’ll still need me sometimes, and no stinky brother of mine is getting in the way of that. Phone rules be thrown into the abyss.

“I would have let her call you,” he pacifies. “It’s not about her calling you. It’s about her getting on my phone without telling me—without asking me. It’s about being respectful of the rules and of other people’s belongings. Even if we all know I would have said yes, she still should have asked.”

“You’re annoying when you’re being a good dad. I’m trying to stick up for my girl, and you’re all ‘I’m raising her to be a respectful person.’” I shiver, full body. “Yucky.”

He laughs. “As much as I’d love to discuss my parenting and how terrible it is for you personally, I really am busy. I’ll have Amia call you back after school?”

I sigh, a paragon of drama. “I suppose. If the powers that be deem such a wait necessary. I’ll practice patience. But I’d like the record to show that I believe it horrendous that I don’t have a straight line to my darling little love at all times. Why, it’s practically abusive!”

“So noted,” he replies amicably. “Love you, Al. I hope you overcome this hardship and manage to have a good day despite it.”

I snort. “Love you, too, Wolfy.”

We hang up, and I groan. In hiding my headache from Wolfe, it’s grown twice its previous size. Who knew monitoring your tone could be so taxing?

I roll out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom, where I can take care of both the headache and the cherry. A pop of extra-strength pain medicine from the over-the-counter bottle in my medicine cabinet later, I fish the bright red blob out of a tangle of pastel-pink hair. Then, I turn on my shower speaker, hook it up to my favorite Stray Kids album, and start the arduous-but-worth-it process of setting the room up for a shower.

I open my under-sink cabinet and pull out my basket of supplies. From it, I pick out a bright yellow puck and drop it on the shower floor, right on top of my flower-shaped grippy stickers that keep me from having a Help. I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up! moment when I’m naked and alone. The puck lands on the petals with a dull thunk, ready and waiting for hot water to turn it into a botanical smell-good steam.

Next, I pick out a sugar scrub exfoliant, then the scent-matched body wash to go with it. I go with lemon today to match my shower steamer. I grab a lemon drop hard candy from a tiny dish on the counter by my sink, then open my frilly pink shower curtain to turn on the waterproof lamp sitting on a corner shelf in the tiled space. Groovy light fills the room, and I tap a button to shuffle through my lighting color options until it shines yellow, pink, and orange.

Finally, I shuffle through bottles lined up beside the shower basket’s spot beneath my sink to find a lemon and honey shampoo and conditioner set to stay on theme.

And there we have it. All five senses accounted for.

I start the water, setting it to on fire before I turn out the main light. After flicking on the bathroom’s exhaust fan, I turn up Stray Kids until it completely covers the sucking sound coming from the vent in the ceiling. Fan sounds are not conducive to this immersive experience.

I pop the lemon drop into my mouth.