Us Against the World

5. A War Brews

I'm lucky that Chandini and Riya aren't home when I finally manage to drag myself back to the apartment. If Riya found out that I went home without any help, she'd probably beat me to a pulp, but I had Eli cover for me. I knew that once the interview was over, I'd need a few hours to myself. He was reluctant to do so, of course, but with enough blackmail, I convinced him. It didn't take much to bait Eli, evidently.

When I get home, the first thing I do is go over the recording again to make sure that everything has been done properly. The tape is clear and our voices aren't as scratchy as I had been expecting them to be, since I hadn't brought any proper camera equipment with me. I didn't need to, though, since this would all be written down and the tape wouldn't be used again...at least, I don't think so.

I toss my work into my backpack and spend the rest of the day mulling around the house, cleaning, and preparing for the next day. I'm thankful that I don't have any classes today, or else I'm sure that I would have fallen asleep in at least one of them, and that would ruin my perfect student track record.

Night falls swiftly over the late-fall city and I retire to bed before Riya and Chandini come home. I know Riya has tutoring after school and her job, but I'm not sure where Chandini is. She doesn't pick up the first two times that I call her. The third time, though, I hear her raspy, vexed voice.

"What?" She snaps.

"Where are you?" I ignore her tone. "It's late. You were supposed to be home 3 hours ago."

"I'm at Spencer's, studying," she retorts dryly. "What are you doing? In bed with Agent?"

"That's both gross and presumptuous," I snort. "I am in bed, though. I'm tired, so I'll probably be asleep by the time you come back. Food's in the fridge."

"You know, I'm surprised that you aren't nagging me to come home."

"You're seventeen, almost eighteen. I can't control your life forever. If you end up in juvenile, that's your problem."

"Hey!"

"Finish your homework and come home." I ignore her indignant screech. "You have thirty minutes."

"But Spencer lives in Essex County!" Chandini exclaims. "How am I supposed to finish my homework and come home in thirty minutes?"

"Find a way or else you'll be raking on the weekend," I say and cut the call before she can sputter some angsty teenage response. I toss my phone on the table and pick up the magazine that Riya left there this morning with a sigh.

"Everybody underestimates child-rearing," I mutter, skimming through the back pages. "It's so easy until you're stuck with a sex-obsessed teenager who thinks that she's the queen of the world. God, who was that obsessed with sex in high school?" I roll my eyes, then put the magazine down as the question bounces in my mind. "Huh, I don't think I was. We used to giggle about it, but..."

It's no secret to me that Chandini lost her virginity already, despite being in high school and being my baby sister. Every time I look at her, I can't help but see the wrinkly, smooth newborn that my parents held out to me years ago; the same girl that I would hide under the blankets with, fight for Barbies, and play pranks on our parents thinking we were smart spies. I'm not fond of remembering my childhood, but as I lay in bed, warm under the soft blankets, I'm burning with nostalgia and it makes my stomach dance excitedly for the first time in years.

When I finally pick up the magazine again and flip to the front, I'm greeted with a full-body photo of Ezra Agent, dressed in a dapper black suit and pulling at his tie as the two buttons of his shirt are released. Because I only saw him sitting down (for the most part, anyway), I studied just his upper half, but the photo makes him look more like a model than a CEO. He would have done well as a cover model for romance books, I think as I stare at his picture. It says on the cover that running is one of his hobbies - maybe that's why he's so fit. He's handsome, no doubt, but there's a look in his eyes, even in a picture, that makes me feel tense. His gaze is like a wildcat; it makes you unsure whether you should stand still or run away.