Ellenor startles at his voice. “Is that Brando?”
I reverse the camera and he leans into the frame. “Hello, Ellenor.”
Her expression darkens, nostrils flaring as she says haughtily, “Hello,Brando. I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.Younever finished ourWords with Friendsgame.”
Trust Ellenor to bring that up. They only ever played a handful of games years ago, but she has a thing about closure. Brandon abandoned their last game mid-match, leaving it to slowly time out. In her books, that’s hightreason.
Besides, she’ll find any excuse to spar with someone, willing or not. Poor Brandon looks mildly baffled, as if he’s not sure how he ended up in the ring.
“I never finished it,” he concedes.
“And why not?” she demands.
I groan. “Ellenor…”
“Let him answer the question! I deserve an explanation. He was rude to just ghost me like that.”
“You’re being rude now,” I point out.
She ignores me, combing her blunt fringe with pointed emerald fingernails as she waits expectantly.
I shift, feeling uncomfortable. Ellenor is just being Ellenor—only showing her softer side to those closest to her, and keeping everyone else at bay—but I worry Brandon won’t see it like that. And I don’t want her to chase him away. He’s offering me real help, and the last thing I want is for him to think my family doesn’t respect him.
To my relief, Brandon seems unfazed. “I thought it best to surrender the battle early.”
“But you were winning!” she splutters, immediately losing all cool.
“Precisely. And I’m afraid I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of victory.”
“I think he’s saying you’re a sore loser,” I clarify.
Ellenor narrows her eyes at me.
“Yeah, I got it, thanks, Lil. Anyway…” She immediately drops the gauntlet in favour of a long yawn—one she somehow manages to keep talking through. “So, how’s England? Seen anyHarry Potterdestinations?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?!”Her voice spikes, scandalised. “Not even King’s Cross? Jeez, this trip is wasted on you.”
“I just got here, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah—excuses.” She leans back in her chair, shaking her head.
I bite back a smile, an idea sparking. “Although you’ll never guess who I saw at the airport.”
“Who?”
“Tom Felton.”
“No!” She nearly falls off her chair as she scrambles for the phone, herface taking up the entire screen. “You didn’t.”
“Pretty sure it was him,” I say innocently.
“Liar,” she growls, then she jabs a green-taloned finger at the camera. “Is she lying, Brandon?”
