I sat in my office that afternoon, staring at her through the glass wall instead of working.
Every so often, Tess would lift a hand to twirl a curl around her finger. Or she would take a bite of the cookie or a handful of the cheddar popcorn she was eating. She seemed to have an endless supply of snacks.
I shook myself and clicked another tab on my laptop.
I needed to stop being obsessive. I didn’t want to end up like her stalker or like my father.
He would get obsessive about his potential new wives. He would love bomb the newest wife, make her think she was special. Then when she got pregnant and he got bored, he would move on to the next potential sister wife, leaving the last one bitter and angry, and she would take it out on us kids.
What if whatever sickness that was in my father was in me?
Tess isn’t blonde.
I was probably just obsessing over her because she was in my proximity and because I had saved her from that asshole stalker.
Remember, I told myself,you don’t even like her.
Except I had neverdisliked her. She was a perfectly fine assistant—competent, creative, sometimes even funny.
Her phone rang, and I watched her pick it up, leaning back in her chair. One bare foot slipped out of her dress shoe to tap against the side of her desk.
Then she immediately spun around, and I didn’t have time to pretend to be engrossed in my work before our eyes met.
Shit.
Had she known I was staring at her? She looked perturbed.
Fuck.
She hung up the phone and came into my office while I hastily prepared some sort of excuse.
But instead of saying something along the lines of “Why are you so creepy?” or “What are you doing looking at me like a stalker?” she said, “The girls have been suspended again.”
“Guess I owe you a box of cookies.”
My sisters were sitting,arms crossed, in the headmistress’s office.
“Honestly,” I said to my sisters, “you could have lasted one day. I do have work to do.”
That work did not include staring at Tess, even though that was all I had gotten done that day.
“What was it this time?” Tess asked the headmistress.
“Annie and Enola do not appear to be at the level emotionally that we require of our students,” she said primly. “They cannot contain their emotions. We expect girls to be kind, to be helpers, to make friends, and to share.”
“Do you expect the same of boys?” Tess asked hotly.
“Of course,” the headmistress said, flustered. “But boys don’t seem to mature as quickly.”
“Or maybe they aren’t held to as high of standards,” I added. “My younger brothers are not allowed to act that way.”
“You’re not enrolling more of your siblings here, are you?” the headmistress asked in horror.
“Of course not,” I said hastily. “I think we have enough Svenssons in one school.”
“I will not tolerate fighting in my school. The other girl had to go to the hospital. Your sisters are feral, Mr. Svensson. There was an out-and-out brawl in the cafeteria. They even attacked a teacher when she tried to restrain Enola.” The headmistress was furious.
Enola couldn’t contain herself any longer.
