Then don’t.
And she’s right. I can’t function without her.
I wince, tugging at the brush again. “Do you think you could help me, please?”
Before I could finish my sentence, she had the hair dryer in her hand. She turned it off and set it down. Then she gotto work removing strands of hair from the brush. “How did you even do this?”
“Are you impressed?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of laughter in them. “More like concerned.”
Slowly, she unravels the hair to the point where she can brush it out. Then she picks up the blow-dryer again and starts to blow my hair dry.
I focus on her face in the mirror as she intently works on each section, making sure it’s as perfect as possible. She’s a good sister. There’s no denying that.
My eyes water, and I want to burst into a sea of tears. I want to jump up and wrap my arms around her. I want to kiss her cheek and smother her with my love, all because she’s in arm’s reach. I want to make up for the last year, but instead I sit as still as possible because I’m afraid if I move, I’ll ruin the moment.
The doorbell rings, and Mallory hands me the blow-dryer. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t want her to leave, but at the same time, I know this is my opportunity to see the paper.
As soon as she steps out of the room, I walk over to her bag. I move the crisp binders, but I don’t see a folded piece of paper anywhere. I take out the binder with the most papers and thumb through them.
I don’t understand why these papers are even in Mallory’s bag because most of these papers aren’t her handwriting. The closer I analyze them, the more I realize they’re assignments from other people. Why does she have these?
Then I see her handwriting. It’s in front of another page, copied word for word.
My head spins, but I put the binder back down. I refuseto let my mind jump to conclusions. This is Mallory. There is an explanation.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the open textbook on her bed with her notes lying all around it. On top of it is the folded paper.
My breath gets caught in my throat as I reach for it. I don’t know why, but it feels momentous. Like it’s the missing puzzle piece I’ve been searching for.
I unfold the paper and my heart stops, sinking to my feet.
It’s a test with the answers written underneath each question in red ink. At the top of the page it says in bold red letters: “Answer Key.”
I don’t want to believe it. Mallory wouldn’t cheat, but between the answer key and the assignments in her bag that aren’t hers, I’m finding it hard to explain this any other way.
Still, this is Mallory.
She’s kind. She’s perfect.
Isn’t she?
“What are you doing?” Mallory’s voice cracks as she storms back into the room. She rips the paper out of my hand.
“Why do you have this?”
Her face reddens as her eyes narrow. “Do you have any respect? You can’t just go through my stuff like that.”
“Tell me it’s not what I think,” I whisper.
Mallory is perfect. She wouldn’t do this.
I refuse to believe it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In one quick motion she shoves everything on the bed into a pile, like she’s trying to cover up the truth.
