Page 315 of Faking the Goal

The words come out rougher than I intended.

Apparently, I hug her a little too hard because she lets out a muffled squeak against my chest.

"Oni-chan..." she wheezes dramatically. "Can't... breathe..."

I immediately loosen my grip, laughing under my breath.

"Sorry."

She grins, taking an exaggerated breath as though I'd nearly crushed every bone in her body. She steps back, and I get my first real look at her. Her hair's longer, past her shoulders now, that same raven black that runs in our family. She's wearing an oversized sweater and jeans with holes in the knees that Mom definitely did not approve of. And she's smiling up at me with our mother's eyes.

I reach out and mess her hair up, because that's what older brothers do. It's basically written in the fucking manual.

"Oni-chan! Stop ruining my hair!" She bats at my hands, fumbling to smooth the strands back into place with her fingers. That pout—god, that pout hasn't changed since she was five. Bottom lip pushed out, eyebrows drawn together in mock outrage. It's so familiar it aches.

"You've grown," I say, because it's true and because I don't know what else to say. She has. Not just taller—though she is, almost up to my shoulder now—but something in her face has shifted. The baby fat is gone from her cheeks, replaced by sharper angles. She looks more like our mother now.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, still smiling. "I thought you weren't coming home until next summer. Are you on break already? What about school?"

The smile slips from her face so quickly it feels like watching sunlight disappear behind storm clouds.

Her shoulders sag.

Her eyes drop to the floor.

Something cold settles in the pit of my stomach.

"...Miho?"

That's when I hear my mother's voice, and I realize—fuck, I didn't even notice her. She's sitting in the armchair by the window, a cup of tea steaming on the side table, her hands folded in her lap.

"Because your father is back to playing his usual manipulation games."

She's wearing that expression she gets when she's trying very hard not to show how angry she is. I know it well. Her mouth is a straight line, her jaw set.

My eyes flick back to my sister.

"What did Dad do?" I ask, though I already know. I can see it in the way Miho won't meet my eyes, in the tremor in her lower lip that she's fighting to control.

"He..." Her voice catches. "He stopped paying my tuition."

My entire body goes still.

"...What?"

"He didn't send the payment for the spring semester."

I stare at her, trying to make sense of what she's saying.

That... That doesn't add up.

Dad has been holding this over my head for months, but last week he made it sound like I still had time. He told me I had until this week to make my decision—to choose between hockey and going back to Japan.

My gaze slowly lifts to meet Miho's.

"Spring semester started in January..."

She gives me a small nod.