One Time- Justin Bieber
Beauty and a Beat- Justin Bieber
Eyes on You- Chase Rice
I Don’t Know About You- Chase Rice
Close to Me- Ellie Goulding
Love the Way You Lie- Eminem (feat. Rihanna)
Tough to Tie Down-Jordan Davis
Beautiful Lies-Jana Kramer
No Promises- Cheat Codes
Blakely
“Hey, can you talk for a minute?” my sister, Sierra, asks from the doorway of the bedroom we share.
I lower the book I’m reading to give her my attention, confused as to why she wants to talk to me. She never does. No matter how much I beg.
“I was wondering if you have any plans for spring break,” she says, causing my heart to expand slightly in hope.
Is it possible? Does she want us to go away together? Is she finally letting me back in?
But then she adds, “Some friends are going to Cocoa Beach, and Jordan said I can’t go unless you go because I’m still underage,” and my expanded heart—and hope—shatters in my chest.
I should’ve known better. Of course the only reason she would ask if I have any plans is because Jordan’s forcing her into a corner. And of all places, she wants me to go with her to the same beach our parents used to take us to, so she can party with her stoner, loser friends. Create new, shitty memories to replace the meaningful ones. She knows how much that place means to me. To us. Is she really that far gone? Yes, I remind myself. Yes, she is. And there’s nothing I can do. I’ve begged and pleaded. I’ve gotten mad and thrown things. But nothing I’ve done has gotten through to her. I keep telling myself all she needs is time, but it’s been two years and she’s still shutting me out.
“No,” I say, choking the two letters out.
“No, you don’t have plans?”
“No, I’m not going to Cocoa Beach with you,” I clarify, raising my book back up so she can no longer see my face, and I don’t have to see hers.
“You seriously can’t do me this one damn favor?” When I don’t answer, pretending to be engrossed in my story, her footsteps stomp across the room. Just as my eyes lift to see what she’s doing, she yanks my hardback copy of Wuthering Heights out of my hands and flings it across the room. It lands on the wood floor with a thud with the spine pointing up. The pages most likely now bent.
Standing, I step into her space, so close our noses are almost touching. I put up with a lot of shit from her, but I will not tolerate her touching my things. “One, not getting your way doesn’t mean you get to lash out and mess with other people’s stuff.” Shoving her shoulder, I stalk past her to grab my book off the ground. When I open it, just as I suspected, several worn pages are now bent. With my back to her, I run my fingers along them to smooth out the corners before I close the book. I shouldn’t have taken it off my shelf. It’s too fragile. When Mrs. Barnes assigned it as the required reading over spring break, I should’ve checked out one of her copies, instead of telling her I have my own at home. If anything happened to this book, I don’t know what I’d do. I make a mental note to go by her class tomorrow to grab a copy.
“And two.” I swivel around and glare at my sister, who at least has the decency to look sorry over throwing the book, now that she sees which book it is. “If you ever touch any of my damn books again, I’m going to destroy everything of yours that means anything to you.” I take a deep breath, holding back the tears, which are burning my lids and begging to surface. “You want to push me away and pretend you have no family left? I can’t stop you! We both know I’ve tried. But don’t mess with all I have left of our mother.”
Sierra steps toward me, and for a split second I see the sister I used to know. Her caramel-colored eyes, the same ones as mine, go soft, and her pink, heart-shaped lips, which are almost identical to mine—except mine are a bit puffier—turn down into a frown.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, reminding me momentarily of the old version of my sister. The one who wore her heart on her sleeve and loved with every ounce of her being. “I didn’t realize it was one of Mom’s books. Is it okay?”
“It’s fine.” I swallow the lump in my throat. Sierra might’ve let her guard down for a moment, but I know all too well it won’t stay that way. She just feels bad because these books are all I have left of our mother. Of our old life. In a minute, her guilt will pass, and she’ll raise her wall back up to protect her heart. “You better go let your friends know you won’t be going to Cocoa Beach.”