Fell For You

Oh Mom

After the beach, Kristina and I walk home—much to Seth's intense protest. He doesn't want us going alone, but I promise we'll be fine, and eventually he lets us go with that reluctant, protective look I pretend not to notice.

We... actually get along. Mostly. She's sarcastic and blunt, not big on jokes, but she's cool beneath it. Steady. We're both fifteen, but she feels older—like her eyes have already lived a few extra years.

"So," I say, wiggling my eyebrows. She raises one of hers in that clean, elegant arc that always makes me feel a bit messy by comparison.

"You and Embry, genius," I tease. "Don't pretend no one noticed the eye contact."

She shrugs, casual, but there's a spark in her eyes and a tiny smile she tries to smother.

"Just so you know," I add, "Embry's one of the good ones. Loyal, funny, and not a jerk when people are watching."

She slides me a look from the corner of her hazel eyes, like she can see right through my matchmaking scheme. "He seems nice," she says, and the word sits on her mouth like it's trying to become more.

I snicker. "Nice. Sure. Let's start there."

"Pff. What about you and Mr. Hottie?" she asks smoothly, hands tucked into her pockets, dew glimmering along her hair like she's stepped out of a photo shoot.

I blink. "Me and Mr. Hot—oh. Seth?"

She nods, waiting.

"We've been best friends forever," I say. "We're just... close." Even I hear the hesitation.

She tilts her head, rolls her eyes. "Right. Because normal besties wrap their arms around each other that way and look like a movie poster. Totally platonic."

I stop walking. "Honestly, there isn't anything else. He's always like that. It's kind of a—"

"A thing," she finishes, smirking. "Sounds pretty couple-like to me."

"Stop putting words in my mouth," I scowl.

"Whatever. I'll let you figure out this phase," she says, breezing ahead of me like the conversation never happened.

I huff, fold my arms, and follow with a scowl that feels glued to my face.

—
Time skip

Morning. School soon. And little Miss Sunshine has already ruined it.

Melissa sticks out her tongue at me across the table. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "She's getting an allowance. Ten dollars a week. She's eight," I grind out.

She giggles and swings her legs. "Well, you see," Dad says, pouring coffee, "she's been helping with chores and even offered to walk the hamster—"

"When did we get a hamster?" I blurt.

Mom slices pancakes like a surgeon and drizzles maple syrup. "Yesterday, while you and Kristina were at the beach. Speaking of Kristina—where is she?"

I gape. "We're not done with the allowance topic. I didn't get one until I was twelve. This is an injustice."

"You weren't exactly an angel at eight," Mom reminds me. "Remember the Mr. Carol incident?"

"Hmph. Not my fault he was eighty and anti-zombie-costume," I mutter.

Dad strolls in, kissing all our cheeks. "Good morning, ladies."

"Dad, is it true you're giving Lisa an allowance?" I ask, hopeful for a miracle.

He freezes mid-bite, caught. Melissa shrugs with a guilty-not-guilty smile.