“I want a minute,” Shannon says, staring me dead in theeye.
“You have thirty seconds.”
“Is that how long duels usually last?” I askDan.
“That’s how long they last here.”
“Fine,” Shannon says. She straightens her shoulders. “That’s all I need. I am going to win this duel.”
“We’ll see,” I say, shaking out my arms. “I am about to duel you within an inch of your life.”
She raises the stupid cheer stick like a baseball bat. My sister is nothing if not competitive.
“Let’s duel clean, everyone,” Dan says, really stepping into his role. “I count to three, you both move at the same time. When the buzzer goes off, the duel is over. Take your positions.”
We line up facing each other, both holding our inflatable makeshift swords in our right hands.
“Three…two…one…and go!” he shouts.
We move for each other at the same time, her swing blocking mine twice before I aim lower, whacking her on the hip, which has all the impact of being lightly smacked with a beach ball.
Though I get the first hit in, she has the advantage now, and I spend the rest of the thirty seconds doubled over laughing at the absurdity of it all while she hits me on the back with a glorified air balloon.
It’s physically ineffective, but cathartic. Like we’re batting away every single irritation we’ve everhad.
“TIME!” Dan shouts, plucking the inflatables out of our hands. “Shannon wins.”
She circles the two of us, arms up in triumph. She’s Rocky Balboa in a silk blouse and a pencil skirt, taking off like a dog with the zoomies. I’m laughing so hard I’m wheezing.
“I was robbed,” I huff, dropping back into my chair.
My sister does a victory lap around the lawn, then glidesback toward us, her arms still up in celebration, and jumps into Dan’s arms. He spins her and sets her back down, laughing as he does. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything like tenderness between them, or Shannon so relaxed, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I feel a twinge of guilt. Watching them together like this, she doesn’t seem unhappy.
Mom was right. I’m not here. I don’t see everything.
Connor was righttoo.
“What a rush!” Shannon declares, returning to her seat. She pulls at her shirt, trying to get air between the layer of silk and her skin underneath. “I fucking love dueling.”
Dan cracks a beer of his own and picks up a leftover hotdog.
“So what’s the deal, then?” he asks me. “Did you come all the way back here so you could duel Shannon?”
“She got fired!” Shannon hoots. “I can’twaitto tell Principal Morris.”
I point a finger at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“She lives the next street over, you know. I can tell her right now,” Shannon says, then stands, and shouts out: “PRINCIPAL MORRIS!”
“Whoa there,” Dan says, tugging Shannon back down to sit. “Let’s try not to get you two booked for being drunk and disorderly on a Tuesday. It won’t be good for Annie’s résumé.”
“Are you even allowed to call her Principal Morris now that she’s retired?”
“What else would I call her?” Shannon says. Her eyeliner has been migrating farther from her eyes with each glass of wine. She’s like a hot raccoon.
“Just Mrs. Morris, maybe? What’s her first name?”
“I think it’s Patricia,” Dan says.
