BIG SIS

1. My Kingdom for a Snickers Bar

Collin eyed the candy bar. It was the last one in the carton. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes on the cheap laminated floor. All he had to do was reach out and grab the damn thing. His hands clenched into fists in the pockets of his hoodie, sweaty. He raised his head decisively.

The candy bar was gone.

Collin blinked in disbelief. He threw a wild look around the store, zeroing in on a woman further down the aisle. His candy bar dangled from her fingers, tapping against her thigh with every other step. After a moment of stupefied silence, Collin hastened after her. He overtook her by the soda and cut into her path with an unfriendly shout.

"Hey! That's mine!"

The woman didn't stop walking. Collin took an instinctive step back, then held still. It wasn't a woman, but a girl around his age. Black coat, blue jeans, long black hair.

Thick, white scar over her right eye.

The girl smacked into him with enough force to send Collin rocking back on his heels. He managed not to fall flat on his ass, but it was a near thing.

"What the fuck!"

The girl didn't back off. Neither did Collin. The sliver of air that separated them disappeared whenever one of them exhaled, more intimate than Collin had gotten with a girl in an embarrassingly long time.

"You are in my way," the girl said.

Collin glared at her. He had to tip his head up to do it, which was just fucking great.

"That's mine," he snapped again, and pointed at the Snickers.

The girl raised her brows. Her right eye was milky white, the left dark brown. Both watched Collin smugly as she demonstratively tore the wrapper and bit into the chocolate bar. Collin gaped. The girl walked around him and disappeared in the self-care aisle.

Collin reached for the nearest shelf and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi. He went to the register to pay, got a receipt and a plastic bag and everything, and left the store. Mike's car was still parked out front. No one was in it. Collin glanced down the street. Muffled voices spilled from an alley, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovering nearby like a cartoon speech balloon. Collin toyed with the idea of going in there empty-handed only for a moment.

It took him an hour and a half to walk home. Collin fumbled with the key at the door, fingers stiff. A wave of warmth enveloped him as soon as he stepped inside. He shivered, only then realizing how cold he had been.

"Collin, is that you?" Mrs. Weaver called.

"Yeah!"

"Dinner's on the table!" she said.

"Okay!"

Collin toed off his sneakers. The Weavers didn't walk with shoes on inside the house, and though they insisted Collin could do as he pleased, he didn't think they'd appreciate him treading dirt into their neat little world. He patted a framed photo sitting on the hallway mantel in passing, as was his habit.

"Hi, sis."

The girl in the picture kept on smiling. Collin had never met Iris Weaver. He knew her from photos, videos, the bedroom Mrs. Weaver kept clean and waiting for a sixteen year old that had left for school one morning and was yet to return, two years later. Collin talked to Iris sometimes. He used to talk to his parents the same way, but there were some things you just didn't tell your mom and dad, dead or not.

The TV was on low in the sitting room. Mr. Weaver was nodding off on the couch, pretending to watch the news. The glare of the TV screen painted the naked dome of his head white. Collin didn't know if he should greet the man or let him sleep. In the end, he shuffled away without saying anything.

Mrs. Weaver was in the kitchen. She said something about having stayed up to watch a show, certainly not to check up on him, oh no, and joined Collin at the table with a cup of tea. Collin grunted noncommittally in response to her questions about his day. He had called her after school to let her know he would be late. He hadn't told her why, and hoped she wouldn't ask.

"I am glad you're making friends," Mrs. Weaver told him, repeating what she had said over the phone. The words didn't sound any more sincere this time around.

Collin shoved a forkful of beef and rice into his mouth. "Mhm."

"It's fine to invite them over, you know. Or - or go over," she added, more hesitantly.

"I'm too old for sleepovers," Collin said.

Mrs. Weavers' shoulders relaxed. "Well, it's all fine. Just - just let me know in advance. If you can."

"Sure."

There was pound cake for dessert. Collin ate his share at a more sedate pace, the conversation having shifted to safer topics.

"Are you certain you don't want a tutor?" Mrs. Weaver asked. "Most of your classmates are probably getting extra help."

Collin shook his head. "I've got practice books. The school's offering a free prep class, too."

"Isn't that very early in the morning?"

Collin shrugged. "Yeah, zero period. It's fine."

Mrs. Weaver gave him a look. "Well, it's alright with me. As long as you aren't refusing a tutor because you're concerned about the expense."

Collin was and wasn't. He didn't want the Weavers to spend more on school shit than they'd already done. He also didn't give a good fuck about the ACTs. He wasn't going to college. The Weavers didn't need to know that though, so he nodded and ate his pound cake.

Collin excused himself after dinner. "Homework," he explained. It wasn't a lie; he did have homework. He might even do it, if he got bored enough up in his room. Mrs. Weaver sent him off with a smile, and a gentle reminder to go to bed on time.

Collin was halfway up the stairs when he heard it. He turned his head to squint at the front door. It was after nine, no way was someone knocking. Collin started up again.

The sound repeated, dull and soft.

"Shit," he muttered.

Collin made his way to the door quickly. He didn't want Mrs. Weaver overhearing if it was Michael or someone from his gang. Collin looked through the peephole. He pulled back with a frown and debated ignoring the stranger standing outside. Except she wasn't really a stranger, and Collin didn't believe in coincidences.

He parted the door open. Mismatched eyes snapped to his, widening with minute surprise.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Collin growled.

The girl from the convenience store smirked at him. "Well, this is interesting."

"No, it isn't. Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops," Collin said.

"I wish you wouldn't. The night's gonna be eventful as it is," the girl said.

Collin scowled. He swung the door open in preparation to slam it in the strange chick's face.

"Collin, who are you," Mrs. Weaver cut off with a loud inhale.

Collin cursed under his breath. He glared at the girl, meaning to shoo her away. Her sudden pallor gave him pause. She looked like she'd been stabbed and bled out and maybe died, all in the span of a few seconds.

Mrs. Weaver was suddenly at Collin's elbow. She nudged him aside gently. Her eyes were on the girl, wet and disbelieving.

"Iris?" Mrs. Weaver whispered.

The girl didn't move, didn't blink. "Mom," she croaked.

Mrs. Weaver darted forward and wrapped her arms around the stranger - around Iris fucking Weaver, what the actual fuck - talking and crying and laughing all at the same time. Iris stared at Collin over the woman's shoulder. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were glazed, gaze turned inward.

Collin looked away. His eyes caught on the photo of Iris as he had known her, a smiling girl made of ink and glossy paper. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

He had a bad feeling about this.