Or is she serious about liking me?
Why would she put it in writing if she wasn’t?
I’m holding the evidence.
Suddenly the door swings open, hitting the wall behind it with a thud.
“Hey, dingus,” Phoebe says, standing in the doorway, arms onher hips like she’s the security officer. “You look like you’re thinking way too hard. Mom saw you sneak in and told me to tell you dinner is ready. Also, why are you in here?”
“You’re supposed to knock before entering a room.”
“What areyoudoing inMom’sshed? Trying to steal her zen or whatever?” She shoots me one of her famous suspicious looks.
I don’t look up at my sister; still, I feel her eyes on me. I know she has her skinny arms crossed over her chest indignantly and I can hear her tapping her little foot against the hardwood floor.
Typical Phoebe, busting in and disrupting my peace and quiet.
“Get out,” I say—but can’t even muster up the emotion totrulybe mad. “Tell Mom I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I asked what you’re doing in here,” she pesters, like a dog wanting a bone.
“None of your business, Phoebe.”
She steps closer. “Itismy business when you’re hiding out in here like a weirdo. Mom sent me to find you—she knows you’re home.” Phoebe walks over to where I’m sitting, waiting for me to snap back. I can practically feel her smirk from across the room as she judges me. “It’stimefordinner.”
God, why is she like this?
“Go away. I’m not in the mood.”
“This place is off-limits to you and your sad-boy routine. Wait.” She comes closer. “Easton. Are you actuallysad?”
“No, I’m not sad.” I’m confused. Frustrated. Disappointed in Harper and myself.
My little sister inches closer and closer. “Youseemlike it.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I hesitate, my jaw tightening. Do I tell her the truth? That Harper’s been occupying every corner of my mind, and she made it worse with this letter?
“I’m thinking about how I want to smother you.”
My sister giggles. “You’re not going to.”
“No—but I’m thinking about it.” I look at her.
“Oh no. Youaresad,” she says when she gets a good look at my face, inching up beside me so she can rest her small hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on, Easton?”
Clearly, she is not going to leave until I give her a crumb of information. Nosy little shit.
“You, uh, remember my friend Harper?”
Phoebe nods enthusiastically. “The one you were in here with last week?”
“Yeah. Her.”
“She’s pretty. I like her.”
