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Naturally, I was also much faster than her. I always won. It never occurred to me to let her have a little victory. She was an annoying, entitled brat.
So was I, but let’s admit it—I wore my faults better.
“I’m not gonna lose, you . . . you . . . hot dog–water breath!” she choked out, her face turning pink.
I laughed. “Your time starts now, fartface.” I raised the timer in the air.
“You know, I’m getting really tired of doing this.” She fisted her hair—onyx black, like her eyes—tying it into a painful-looking bun. “Making myself invisible for them. All of my friends’ parents—”
“Miranda and Doug aren’t parents.” I cut her off, squinting up as gray clouds gathered above our heads like schoolyard bullies. It was going to rain soon. “They’re just people with kids. There’s a difference.”
“But it’s not fair!” Grace stomped. “Mom punishes me whenever your dad annoys her.”
This was a good time to point out I was her mother’s personal punching bag. Miranda’s favorite pastime was lamenting to my father how screwed up I was.
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t take an interest in anything but astronomy and math, which—excuse me, Doug—simply isn’t normal for a ten-year-old. Maybe there is something wrong with him. We would do him a disservice if we don’t run some tests. Oh, and he doesn’t yawn when others do! Have you noticed that? That shows a lack of sympathy. He could be a sociopath. A sociopath! Living under our roof.
I couldn’t chance Gracelynn running back to her mom with the impression I gave half a crap, so I bit my tongue.
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Like, I’ve been wanting this tutu Lucinda’s parents bought her from Moscow for ages. It’s custom made. Last week Mom told me she’d look into ordering it. But today, before she went with your dad to the theater, she snapped and said it was too expensive all of a sudden, and that I’d grow out of it too quickly. All because he pissed her off!”
“And you care about the stupid dress because . . . ?”
“It’s not a dress, Ars. It’s a tutu!”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so! I’ll say it all day long!”
“You don’t want Lucinda’s tutu. You want her talent. And that can’t be bought in Russia, or anywhere else,” I said matter-of-factly.
Lucinda and Gracelynn were in the grade below me. Lucinda was the girl everyone wanted to be. Beautiful, and nice, and therefore loathed by Grace and her little clones.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” She balled her hand into a fist, waving it at me. “Mom’s right about you, you know.”
“Your mom’s not right about anything. Now start walking. I haven’t got all day,” I snapped, starting the stopwatch. “It’s on.”
“Ugh!” she growled. “I hate you!”
I started counting the seconds out loud, knowing it was gonna freak her out.
“Argh. I’ll show you! I’m gonna win!”
She raised her arms in the air and started jogging across the roof quickly. Too quickly. Gracelynn was practically hovering over the edge, cutting through the air like a bird of prey. She sliced in and out of the fog like a plane. She wobbled left and right. She was almost at the chimney, but what the hell? She could fall over any second.
“Jesus,” I hissed. “Slow down. What are you doi—”
Before I finished my sentence, her right leg missed the needlelike surface. She slipped, swinging herself left to regain balance. Her right leg twisted sharply. She let out a surprised gasp, throwing her arms forward to clutch the chimney. She fell about an inch short.
Gracelynn tumbled down the side of the roof with a feral scream, disappearing out of sight. Shit. My lungs closed up, rejecting oxygen. My first thought was, What was she thinking? Followed closely by Dad’s going to murder my ass.
I waited for the thud. Maybe I was a sociopath like Miranda said. Who waited to hear the body of their stepsister hitting the ground from a thirty-foot height?
“Grace?” My voice was drowned out by the rain that began pelting on the roof. “God dammit, Gracelynn!”
“Over here!” she choked out.
Relief washed over me. She wasn’t dead. I crouched down to sit on the ridge and slowly slid down the roof until I reached the gutter.
Her fingers were curled around the gutter pipe. Her body dangled in the air.
Should I go get Dad and Miranda? Should I try pulling her up?
Shit, I had no idea. I never thought either of us would be stupid enough to legit run across the roof like a maniac.
“Help me,” Gracelynn pleaded, tears and raindrops running across her face. “Please!”
I grabbed onto her wrists and leaned backward, starting to pull. Sharp spikes of rain blurred my vision. Her skin was cold, wet, and slippery. Her wrists so delicate I was scared I’d break them. Her fingers clawed into my skin, grasping, as she wiggled, trying to use me as a human ladder. She drew blood, just like her mother had done to my father tonight.
