15. Sophie

fifteen

Sophie

Taking a deep breath, I straighten the hem of my wool sweater and stare at my reflection in my bedroom mirror. I still look like the same girl who left this small town five years earlier with all those hopes and dreams. Even though so much has changed, I still feel like the same old me that used to sleep in this room every night.

The room hasn’t changed much at all, either. My mom kept the matching white-wicker furniture, complete with a papasan chair. That was all the rage when I was in school, and I couldn’t believe I got one, making all my friends jealous. I spent hours curled up on that thing, writing song lyrics—most have never been sung out loud. For good reason of course. Most were horrible. But I kept at it, dreaming my dream so hard I’d get stomach aches that kept me up all night, and eventually things paid off.

It’s funny how coming back home for a few days has me thinking about all the things, but one thought is new: Axl.

I’d only known him for a couple of weeks, but I’m no longer surprised when I find myself thinking about him. I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight—not because I told Bill I’d try to kiss him—but because I’m a little bored hanging out around the house. I used to spend so much time with Rocco. Now there’s this void of time I’m not sure what to do with. Axl fills it nicely, and I certainly haven’t shed even one tear over Rocco since I met Axl.

“Hey, Twinkie!” The voice of my brother, Sam, is followed by disorganized pounding on my door. Hearing my childhood nickname slams me back to simpler days when my life’s purpose was to score an extra dessert in my lunch box. I’ve always had a sweet tooth.

Flinging my door open, I point a harsh finger at Sam. “Don’t call me that in front of Axl.”

“Whatever you say, Twinks. Oh, and he just pulled up in a truck.” In a flash, he whisks his hand to his back pocket and springs a water gun on me. Knowing exactly what he’s up to—because we had this duel out every day for years—I drop to the floor, roll across the hall into the bathroom, and slam the door, only getting sprayed in the leg a little. An amused grin laces my lips as I tiptoe to the closet and dig in the back of the towel stack—way up under the big ugly towels Mama used to dye her hair— to find the gun I’d hidden back when I was in high school.

“Did you hear me?” Sam calls from the other side of the door. “I said your guest is here.”

“I’m not falling for that.” I fill my gun under the faucet, and my gaze slides to the tiny bathroom window. It’s tempting but I doubt I can crawl out of it. It’s awfully high off the ground and not that big. With my luck, I’ll get stuck and my parents would do something insanely embarrassing like calling the fire department.

I don’t need that headline.

“He’s walking up the porch,” Sam calls out, his voice sounding so close, I bet his face is smeared up against the door.

“I said I’m not falling for that.” I secure the plug in my canister and pump the double barrels full of water. He knows not to test me. I’ve held out in this bathroom for over two hours before. It won’t take long, and he’ll give up, walking away. The creaky wood floors will tip me off when that happens. I’ll wait until he’s all the way down the hall and then I’ll bust out, barrels blazing. My shoulders bounce as I suppress a giggle.

Who does he think he is?

I invented this game.

I crouch near the door and hold my breath as I press my ear closer. It only takes a moment, and the whole thing plays out like clockwork, like I knew it would. First, there’s the creak of the floorboard directly across from this door, and then two more seconds and he pads over the creaky board in front of the laundry room. In only four more steps, he’s all the way down the hall, so I only wait two seconds before I spring up with full force, whip open the door, and open fire.

I got him!

Just where I knew he’d be.

At the end of the hall standing in front of the foyer. I pump more water into my gun as I run toward him, hollering like I’m on an ambush squad. “Surrender!”

The oddest thing happens.

He doesn’t pull his gun back up to shoot, and he doesn’t run. He turns his face to me . . . and I die. So much blood rushes to my face that I get dizzy.

Not Sam.

It’s Axl, and I’ve drenched him. One of my feet slides back, as I entertain the idea of running into the bathroom and refusing to come out. Why did Sam set me up like that?

Little brothers are the worst.

Sam and my parents stand slack-jawed in the adjacent kitchen, laughing like a pack of hyenas.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, struggling to know what to do. I should run back and grab a towel for him, but I should also take a minute to explain why I was acting like a feral ten-year-old boy. “I thought you were my brother.”

His lips bend slowly, as if he’s testing to make sure the attack is over. It’s the first glimpse that he’s not going to be mad at me. “I understand . . .?” His statement comes out like a question, and my cheeks flame with massive rage at Sam for putting me in this situation.

“I’ll grab a towel for you.” I spin on my heel in a hustle to the bathroom when an entire gulf stream of freezing water blasts my back. I scream, so confused. One glance over my shoulder confirms that Axl’s in on it!

He’s pulled a gun out from somewhere, and he’s firing this way!

How did that happen? Sam must have got to Axl first and set this whole thing up.

I’m laughing and screaming all the way back to the bathroom. Once again, I slam the door as a barrier. I grab two towels, wrapping one around myself, and crack the door open, calling out, “Okay, you won. We need to call a truce before the parents get mad.”

“Truce.” There’s nothing sus in his tone, and I peek my head out. His gun sits on the floor at the end of the hall, and he’s walking toward me. “Would you believe me if I said Sam made me do that?”

“Actually, I do believe you.” I push the door open all the way, and throw a towel at him, fully seeing he got soaked much worse than I did, “This is his thing.” I drag the towel over the puddles on the floor. “I see you already met everyone.” I motion to the chorus of snickering still piping out from my parents in the kitchen. As I turn back, it’s obvious to both Axl and me that a towel isn’t going to dry him off. “I’m so sorry. Dad,” I say, raising my voice, trying to cut through the laughter rushes. “Can you lend Axl a shirt?”

Dad rises to his feet, every smile line on his face deepening as he ushers Axl back to his room, and I’m left standing in the hall.“Sam,” I murmur under my breath. “I’m going to change, and when I get back out here, remind me to kill you.”

His laughter calls my bluff, and I’m not chuckling as I playfully glare at him. He’s not even wet. His dark hair lies perfectly against his head, and his gamer T-shirt looks like it just came out of the dryer. As much as Sam can be sooo annoying, I’m oddly grateful for this distraction. My nerves about kissing Axl have calmed and everyone is laughing. It’s not how I expected this introduction to go, but the ice is clearly broken.