Our heads snap toward the door in unison, hearts hammering in sync. My little sister stands there, hands on her hips, her face a mix of shock and suspicion and curiosity.
Mostly curiosity…
“Oh, crap,” Harper whispers, shoving me like I’m about to spontaneously burst into flames. I stumble, the backs of my legs hitting the pink couch.
“Phoebe, this is Harper.”
Harper gives her a feeble wave. “Hi?”
I scowl down at my sister, who cocks her head to the side, the kind of judgmental look on her face that only a seven-year-old can give when they know they’ve caught you doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.
Guilt is written all over Harper’s face. Her bright red, blushingface.
“Mom said you had a girl out here and told me to come find you. She said it’s taking you too long to find her glasses and she doesn’t trust you.” My sister has no sense of whatnotto say. Blunt is her middle name.
“Oh my god,”Harper mutters.“I want to die right now.”
I laugh. “Relax.” I swipe my mom’s glasses from the desk behind Harper and hold them up as proof. “See? We found them.”
Phoebe crosses her puny arms and raises a brow. “Looks like that’s not theonlything you found.”
“Does Mom know you talk like that?” Translation:Does Mom know you know how to make sexual innuendo?
“Yes.”
I doubt that.
My sister has a tablet and constantly watches TikTok despite having been locked out of the app by my parents several times. Too bad for them that Phoebe is smarter than they are and knows how to change parental permissions.
“Are you his girlfriend?” My sister is giving Harper the most disapproving look I’ve ever seen the child give another human, foot tapping on the hardwood floor.
“N-no,” Harper stammers.
“Hmm.” Her tiny lips are pursed. Glossy and pursed…
She’s probably wearing some expensive lip stuff she saw on the internet and begged my mom to buy her. She’s totally a product of online advertising.
“You can leave now,” I tell her, aggravated by her tiny attitude.
“Youleave,” she sasses. “This is my house, too.”
“Honest to God, Phoebe…”
“Don’t swear,” she scolds me, as if “honest to God” were the worst thing she’s heard me say.
Her gaze darts to Harper, and I know she’s enjoying acting like a little brat in front of my new friend.
“Where is Cobie?”
Phoebe rolls her eyes at the mention of my younger brother. “Where do you think?”
“Hockey?”
“Duh.And Mom says you better hustle because Dad is expecting you to run drills tonight.”
Shit. He would be expecting me to run drills.
I want to strangle my sister for interrupting us and splashing me with a cold bucket of reality.
