Switch

good idea at the time. Much like this text-message

flirtation. Austin's message shot the same frigid-inferno

tingle up and down my body, and I saved myself from

gasping aloud only by biting my tongue.

I was saved from myself by the movie ending. Thanking

God it wasn't one to have outtakes and jokes scattered

throughout the final credits, I hustled Arty to the bathroom

where he peed forever as he chattered about the movie.

The weight of my phone in my pocket distracted me so

much I forgot to make him wash his hands, a fact I

remembered too late when he grabbed mine on the way to

the parking lot.

'Paige, you're the best sister, ever. I love you!'

'Love you too, squirt.' I ruffled his hair and helped him

into his seat belt.

My phone remained silent, and so did I. Arty talked

enough for both of us al the way home. By the time I

puled up in front of my mom's house, he'd relayed the

entire movie to me, including dialogue, and I marveled at

how he could repeat word for word eight minutes' worth

of dialogue but was unable to remember his telephone

number.

'Inside and get ready for bed,' I told him on the front

porch. 'No fussing.'

'Okay.' He was off the moment he got in the door, up the

stairs before my mom even made it out of the kitchen.

'He's sufficiently caffeinated now,' I told her. 'To go along with the sugar.'

'Great.' My mom's laugh sounded forced.

From my pocket, my phone buzzed.

Her eyebrows lifted when I didn't reach to answer it. 'So

I'm not the only one you ignore?'

I'm not the only one you ignore?'

I remembered then I was supposed to be angry with her

about something. 'It's Austin.'

She didn't even try to hide the pleasure on her face. She

puled a pan of brownies from the oven and settled them

on top of the stove, then slapped the hot pads on the

counter. 'I'm not surprised. You were crazy about that

boy for so long—'

' Crazy being the operative word.'

She turned to face me. 'I said I'm sorry, al right?'

I eyed the brownies, then her. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?' She

rummaged in the fridge to pul out a bowl of what looked

like fudge icing.

'Because you bake when you're upset.'

She held out the bowl to me. 'Taste this. Is it too sweet?'

'I don't want to taste that, Mom.'

'Trying to watch your figure?' She ran a finger around the edge and tasted, then grimaced. 'Is this too sweet? I think