I frown. “Who is this Pandora person? I’ve heard Jules mention her.”
Apparently, my ignorance annoys my sister, because I get a big eye roll in response.
“You live under a rock. I swear,” she scoffs. “She—or he, no one really knows— is a social media influencer. She posts whatever she or her minions see. I mean, like, on her app and all her social accounts. If it goes down at C.P.A., and it’s newsworthy, you best believe Pandora knows about it and she will tell. It’s usually only stuff about northsiders, but everyone follows,” she adds. “So, consider yourself warned.”
I can’t help but to laugh. Scarlett means well, but she’s always been a bit dramatic.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to start my year invisible and end it the same way. So, no need to worry I’ll sully our good family name,” I tease, knowing our name means crap around here.
On cue, as if to punctuate the thought I’ve just had, Mike—still drunk and passed out—lets a huge fart rip on the other side of the door.
Scarlett’s mouth gapes open while struggling not to laugh, and then we both lose it at the same time. That’s us, cut from the finest cloth. A real class-act.
My eyes shift to the clock on the wall, just over the long, catch-all table that holds the clutter and junk we’ve been too lazy to put away over the past week.
“Shoot!” I bolt up from the ground. “Gotta go. Senior orientation starts soon.”
“You’re always running off somewhere,” she says casually, but it gets me right in the heart anyway. I pulled a lot of hours at the diner this summer, with hopes of having enough left to get us both a few new things for school. But after the bills were paid, and now with the shutoff notice, I’m not so sure that’ll happen.
“I know,” I sigh. “Seems never ending.”
“Well, do yourself a favor,” Scarlett calls out.
I slam my bedroom door and wriggle into a pair of jean shorts. “What’s that?”
“I’m shooting you a text with the link to download the gossip app,” she says from the hallway. “If you intend to survive the drama, I suggest you stay ahead of it.”
Again, with the dramatics.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I ask, “Why are you so interested in all this anyway? I mean, you don’t even know these people. Isn’t it just a bunch of dirt on northsiders? A bunch of snobs bragging that they’ve returned from their latest European tour, or how they just turned down an invite to some movie premier?”
I’m trying my best not to sound bitter and frustrated, but the pink paper that just ruined my morning makes that difficult.
“You couldn’t possibly want to be a part of that world,” I say to her, but when there’s silence from the hallway, I tuck in only the front of my tank top and snatch the door open to ask again. “You couldn’t possibly want to be a part of that world, right, Scarlett?”
She shrugs but doesn’t give a straight answer.
“I mean, don’t we all kinda want that? To have the world in the palm of our hand?”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying what’s come to mind. That dreaming about those things has led a lot of girls to do some incredibly stupid and reckless things.
“Careful, kid. You’ve got stars in your eyes,” I warn, but can’t say for sure I’m being heard.
She sticks her tongue out and, as I pass her in the hallway, I mess up her pink-tinted hair more than it already is. Reaching the kitchen table, I bend to grab the pair of Mom’s sneakers I borrowed from underneath it.
“Download the app,” Scar repeats. I roll my eyes while she isn’t looking.
“Fine, but only if you do the dishes while I’m gone. They’ve been sitting here for three days and the house is starting to smell worse than your socks.”
My statement barely gets a response because, like always, her eyes are glued to the brightly glowing screen in her hand.
I hate what I’m about to do, but storm toward her anyway.
A loudly spoken, “Hey!” hits my ears, and I fully expect the look that darts my way after snatching her phone.
“I asked you to get them done days ago, Scar. So, I’ll keep your phone until you follow through,” I declare, which makes her mouth fall open.
“What the …?
“If there’s an emergency while I’m out, Ms. Levinson won’t mind you using her landline.”
“But what if Shane tries to text?”
I envision her too-cute-to-be-trusted bestie and shrug. “I’ll text him back to let him know you’re grounded. Meanwhile, if he stops by, you’re allowed to sit on the porch and talk. Provided the dishes are done,” I add. “But I mean it, he is not to come inside the house while I’m gone. Understood?”
A defiant huff hits the air. “Seriously? I’m not allowed to have friends inside now?”
“Not ones with dicks,” I say quietly to myself.
“We’ve known the Ruiz’s our whole lives, Blue. Be reasonable.”
She has no idea that reminding me of Shane’s relation to Ricky is only hurting her argument.
“He’s helping me plan for the bake sale,” she adds.
I do a double-take. “Bake sale?”
She rolls her eyes, which means she’s about to give a recap of something we’ve already discussed. Something I should already remember.
“I’m selling cookies and brownies again at the block party next weekend. Figure whatever I sell can help toward groceries or something.”
Heart. Broken.
She’s fourteen. Where our next meal is coming from should be the least of her worries. But … alas.
My only hope of not getting emotional is to stick to my guns. So, I pretend to ignore the fact that she’s starting to feel the burden of the household bills like I have for years.
“He’s not to come within six feet of this house, Scar,” I reiterate. “Understood?”
She rolls her eyes again. “Yes, rat. I understand.”
“Good.” When I flash a big, toothy grin just to annoy her, she grabs the closest thing she
