"Girl! You look amazing! Total bombshell! Let me take a look at you!" Ishani squealed as Lamar's car pulled up to our house. "Are you ready for the paaaartyyyy!!!"
"How's it going?" Lamar leaned out of his old but imposing Ram.
I noticed he was dressed as if he were going on a date, only missing a boutonniere. Alisha also looked stunning in what seemed to be a form-fitting, short dress.
I suddenly felt like turning around and heading back home, but when I turned my head, I saw my sister hiding behind one of the columns of our porch. Alisha and Lamar waved at her, and she scurried inside like a frightened mouse.
"Who was that?" Alisha asked, a bit surprised.
"The ghost of this house. She's forever trapped here and can't find peace. But don't worry, she can't step past the threshold," I said, completely serious.
Lamar and IshanI burst into laughter, sounding like a pair of neighing horses. I bet Bianca would have loved that joke too.
Alisha's eyes widened in surprise, looking like she was about to cry. "I'm just kidding!" I quickly reassured her.
"Don't mind her," said Lamar. "My sister is sensitive about ghosts."
"That's not true!" Alisha insisted. "They exist!"
"Yeah, right," her brother mocked. "Ghosts and vampires..."
"No one has disproven them!" Alisha huffed.
"You're just obsessed with all that spooky stuff. You should see how many vampire books she has at home!" Lamar teased.
"It's called modern gothic romance!" Alisha retorted defensively.
"Girl, your figure is to die for," sighed my friend. I was surprised; I thought I had totally let myself go.
"Hop in," Lamar said kindly, gesturing to his truck.
"Hope you're not asking me to ride in the bed," I joked.
"He wanted to put me in the car's bed too," Alisha grumbled.
"Dad didn't give me his Ram for you to dirty it up with your Cheetos."
"Just a few crumbs, and you were ready to shove your own sister back there. So, who's that ghost?" Alisha persisted. "She looks nothing like you."
"You got that right," I sighed. "We haven't had much in common for a long time."
Alisha exchanged a significant glance with her brother.
"You guys got it all wrong. I'm not dating her. She's my sister."
"Ohhh," they both said, each clearly thinking their own thoughts. Alisha seemed disappointed that Jess wasn't a ghost.
"I never imagined you had a mixed sister," Alisha remarked.
"Geez, Alisha, just because Mel's white doesn't mean her whole family has to be," Lamar snapped.
"Lamar, why are you so mad? I didn't mean to offend Mel or her sister; I was just curious."
"Sorry, my sister is the epitome of delicacy," Lamar muttered.
"Come on, Lamar," Ishani jumped in to defend Alisha. "I get her surprise. This town is small, and there aren't many people of color like us here."
"Can we drop the topic of my sister?" I pleaded.
"Yeah, yeah," everyone chorused, suddenly very interested in the road ahead.
"But my sister is a total idiot," I added.
"She has amazing hair, though," Alisha noted. "Even better than Ishani's."
"Thanks a lot," Ishani grumbled.
"I told you, my sister's the queen of sensitivity," Lamar said dryly. "Looks like, Mel, we both got unlucky with our sisters."
Alisha ignored him, while Ishani giggled, staring at Lamar with a lovesick expression. All I wanted was to see Bianca and figure everything out.
"Why aren't we there yet?" I asked. "Bianca's house is practically around the corner."
"We're already here," Lamar announced.
Check out my ongoing lesbian novel (queen x girl from our world) 💋👑
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
More chapters on my personal Patreon page
New updates:
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
