BIG SIS

2. Girls in Glass Houses Shouldn't Throw Punches

No one slept that night. Collin pretended to, after Mrs. Weaver finally sent him off to bed. He couldn't get his thoughts to settle. After a few hours of staring at the ceiling, he sat up and booted his laptop.

Iris Weaver had been an honor roll student with a promising future. Her friends described her as shy, generous, kind. Google spat out all sorts of sob-stories about her disappearance. More were to follow, Collin guessed. News teams were going to be pounding down the door as soon as word got out. Everyone would want a glimpse of the girl who'd made it home against all odds.

Too bad they weren't going to find her.

Collin stared at the computer screen, morose. He hadn't know Iris before her disappearance. If the girl with the scar really was Iris Weaver, then neither had anyone else.

The Weavers didn't seem to find anything strange. Collin guessed they'd be happy to get their daughter back even if she returned part-robot bent on destroying all of humankind, so their doting wasn't a reliable measure. His own observations were worth shit. He couldn't shrug off the feeling that there was something rotten going on nonetheless. Iris was too calm, too cold, too fucking stable. Collin didn't like the calculating look in her eyes, either.

Iris and Mrs. Weaver came up the stairs sometime around four in the morning. Collin heard them go into the room next door. Iris' room. Mrs. Weaver left at some point. Collin bet she'd left Iris' door open. He smirked to himself, mood buoyed by a touch of Schadenfreude. Let's see how this Iris dealt with her mother's hovering.

A loud thump jerked Collin awake. He rolled over to lay flat and tipped his head up. The thumping sound repeated. Collin raised an arm and hesitantly rapped his knuckles against the wall that separated his room from Iris. Two sharp knocks answered him, then silence. Collin stared at the wall until his eyes hurt.

The phone alarm startled Collin awake at six thirty. He rolled out of bed, heart beating anxiously. His mind buzzed.

The Weavers were downstairs. Collin hesitated in front of the kitchen door, then pushed through decisively. He'd have to face them sometime. They shared a house, for fuck's sake.

Mrs. Weaver beamed when she saw Collin. "Good morning, dear! There are pancakes. Do you want me to make you eggs, as well?"

"No, thanks. Pancakes is fine," Collin said. He mustered a smile that melted away as soon as Mrs. Weaver turned her back.

Collin pulled a chair and sat down. Mr. Weaver didn't have his nose in a book or the newspaper, as was his morning habit. His eyes were on his wife, his whole face lit up. Collin met the man's smile for a brief second before he dropped his eyes to the plate Mrs. Weaver placed in front of him. He studied the pile of golden dough teetering to and fro under his nose with great apprehension.

"Take your time. I'll give you a ride to school," Mr. Weaver said.

"I'm good," Collin muttered.

"It's no trouble. I'm going that way," the man said.

Collin sneaked a look around the room. Mr. Weaver's commute ran the opposite direction from Collin's high school, as did Mrs. Weaver's. They must have taken off from work. Collin suddenly wished he'd insisted harder against getting driven to school. He didn't want to cost the Weavers any time with their daughter, pod-person or not. He was already the odd man out. No need to draw more attention to it by being even more of a burden.

"Collin, will you be staying out late again today?" Mrs. Weaver asked.

Collin shook his head. He winced internally. He'd completely forgotten about Michael and his buddies. School was certain to be fun.