"So what, now we're going to live together?" Jamie takes another step towards me. "That's your idea of a good plan?"
Unwilling to back down, I poke a finger at his chest. "This is my family's house. Not yours. I have every right to be here."
"Newsfl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Present day
“Hey, careful with that!”
I yelp as the box labeled ‘Bathroom’ is smashed against the doorframe to my new apartment. There are at least four glass bottles in there, and I’m pretty sure I hear one of them breaking. Jamie ignores my warning and pushes through with a, “Relax, it’s fine.”
Unfortunately I can’t take it from him because I’m too busy holding the door open for Enzo, who’s right on his heels with a bin full of my clothes. “I have like four boxes, Enzo. Why’d you have to bring your lame-o friend to help me move?”
“Lame-o, good one. Remind me, when do you graduate high school again?”
I stick my tongue out at Jamie’s back.
“Children, children, play nice.” Enzo sets the bin on the floor and turns it so he can slide it through the doorway. “And Lissa, I know I’m super buff, but even I can’t carry your dresser up a flight of stairs by myself.”
“I could’ve helped,” I protest.
The boys snicker like I’ve just told a good joke.
“Oh shut up.” I cross my arms. “I should’ve just hired professionals.”
“You know any professionals who work for pizza?” Enzo pauses in the hallway. “Which room—”
“The one on the right,” Jamie and I answer at the same time. It’s only the fourth time he’s asked this.
Outside, Amanda finally reaches the top of the stairs, balancing two boxes on top of each other because she’s Amanda. I stick my foot in the door and grab the top one, which was looking like it wanted to slide off.
“This place is nice,” she says appreciatively, setting her remaining box down.
It is nice. It’s also on the mainland, which makes me a little sad, but is more practical considering I won’t be an hour late for my shift every time Point Bridge calls it quits. I couldn’t afford an apartment on the island anyway. They’re all priced for the tourists who read on Google that St. Martin’s is a “quaint” and “picturesque” place to stop on their way from Toronto to NYC, or vice versa. So considering this place is cheap, modern, and only ten minutes away from work, it’s a miracle my parents found it.
There’s still something painful about the thought that I’m officially not an islander anymore.
“Hey Amanda.” Enzo comes out from my room and pretends to consider my friend. “Is it just me or are you getting shorter?”
He reaches out to ruffle her hair, but she grabs his arm. Faster than you can say “girl boss,” Amanda’s flipped my 200 pound brother over her shoulder like it’s nothing. He lands on the carpeting with a thud.
