My Sister Broke Into My Mansion

in Tammy’s cooler. I didn’t hate them. That made everything more annoying. They were eight and ten and feral because no one had ever told them “no” without apologizing right after.

Mom looked at me over Tammy’s hair.

“Drop this.”

“No.”

“Claire Anne.”

“No.”

“It’s a house.”

“It’s my house.”

“You don’t need all of this.”

I laughed then. Just once.

“Say that again continue reading …