I’ll be at the old train bridge at midnight. If you want to stop pretending.
“Derek, I didn’t—”
Because she was right.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I knew I shouldn’t reply. I knew the rules. The Bro Code, Article 4, Section B: Thou shalt not engage thy best friend’s younger sister beyond polite, holiday-dinner small talk.
“She didn’t deserve you,” she said. Not sympathetic. Factual.
He ruffled her hair like she was still twelve. She endured it, but her eyes stayed locked on mine.
At our weekly poker game, she’d “accidentally” sit next to me, her knee pressing against mine under the table. At Derek’s barbecue, she’d materialize with a plate of food I hadn’t asked for, leaning over just enough that her hair brushed my cheek. She’d text me memes at 3 AM, then follow up with: Can’t sleep. Thinking about that time you tripped up the stairs in 11th grade. You’re so cute when you’re humiliated.
I swung my legs out of bed, suddenly nauseous. “That’s a lie. Why would she lie?”
He hates you now. Isn’t that freeing? No more pretending to be good.
She laughed, sweet and innocent, the mask sliding perfectly into place. “I’m being an angel, Derek. Promise.”
I’ll be at the old train bridge at midnight. If you want to stop pretending.
“Derek, I didn’t—”
Because she was right.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I knew I shouldn’t reply. I knew the rules. The Bro Code, Article 4, Section B: Thou shalt not engage thy best friend’s younger sister beyond polite, holiday-dinner small talk.
“She didn’t deserve you,” she said. Not sympathetic. Factual.
He ruffled her hair like she was still twelve. She endured it, but her eyes stayed locked on mine.
At our weekly poker game, she’d “accidentally” sit next to me, her knee pressing against mine under the table. At Derek’s barbecue, she’d materialize with a plate of food I hadn’t asked for, leaning over just enough that her hair brushed my cheek. She’d text me memes at 3 AM, then follow up with: Can’t sleep. Thinking about that time you tripped up the stairs in 11th grade. You’re so cute when you’re humiliated.
I swung my legs out of bed, suddenly nauseous. “That’s a lie. Why would she lie?”
He hates you now. Isn’t that freeing? No more pretending to be good.
She laughed, sweet and innocent, the mask sliding perfectly into place. “I’m being an angel, Derek. Promise.”
