The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson
TWENTY-FIVE
Are you a parking ticket? ’Cause you have fine written all over you.
—JULIA B.
Next morning, I woke to Iris sitting on my bed, staring down at me. Which was a little terrifying. For a split second, I thought I was dreaming.
“Hi?” I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and hunted blindly for my glasses on the nightstand.
My sister nudged me. “Move over.”
I slid my glasses on and stared at her for a long moment. “Why?”
“Because I wanna lay down. Geez, why can’t you just do it?”
I scooted slowly. No sudden movements. I didn’t want to scare her away. “Okay?”
She slid in next to me and laid down, stacking her hands behind her head.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m thinking of going back to blonde,” she announced. Holding up a piece of unnaturally black hair.
“Huh.” Maybe I was still sleeping. Or in an alternate dimension? Was I dead? Had she finally succeeded in turning me into a vampire?
“I mean, the black is getting kind of old and maybe I need a change, you know?”
“Yeah, right.” Must seem disinterested or she’ll get spooked, and this sweet sisterly moment will be over, never to happen again.
“I am going to college next year and all.”
“Yep.” Keep talking. Please don’t stop. Iris used to talk to me all the time. She’d been a regular chatterbox.
Another long moment of silence.
“How was your date with the football player?” she asked, turning on her side and propping her face on her hand.
“It was fun.” And that wasn’t even a lie. It had been fun. At least until Peter ruined it. I was seriously considering siccing Ali on him now. He’d earned it. Which reminded me. “Hey, do you know a kid at school named Aidan Bustos? He’s a senior. He’s new.”
She shrugged. “Not anyone I know.”
More silence. Except she was staring at me. We’d moved on from sweet sister chat to just plain weird.
I cleared my throat. “Did you need something else?”
“Have you heard from Dad?” she blurted out. “I’ve left a bunch of messages but then I wondered if maybe they accidentally got erased or something and maybe that’s why he’s not calling back…” Her voice drifted off, but her eyes were bright with hope.
With a groan, I put an arm over my eyes. “I called. No answer.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I get it.”
The gentle ring of hope in her voice made my chest tight. I sat up and peered down at her. “You know sometimes Dad can be kind of hard to nail down.”
Understatement of the year.
She shrugged and picked at the black polish on her fingernail. “I know. I just thought it’s my graduation and it’s a big deal.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She scowled. “Please. I am practically an adult.”
I swallowed back a bitter laugh. Someone should tell her that being an adult does not exempt you from pain. “I'll keep trying, okay?”