It was the feel of her presence in my
room that woke me — again. I rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock on
my nightstand. "What time is it?" My voice slurred. The blurry
numbers came into focus. She didn't respond. I scooted my pillow against the headboard to sit
up, see what she was doing. "What is that?"
I asked. "Like it?" She shimmied in front of the
mirror. The layered fringe on the dress she was wearing swayed in waves.
"It's an old flapper dress I found at Goodwill," she said. In her stockinged feet, she performed a little I snorted. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and
sobered me fast. She couldn't be serious. Examining the length of herself, she hooked her
long hair over her ears and wiggled her hips again. She'd chosen the blond
wig tonight. It wasn't her favorite, since she thought it made her look
cheap. Like a slut. It did go well with the red dress, though. She caught me
looking at her and smiled. "I'm going to run for prom queen, too." I burst into laughter, then
clapped a hand over my mouth to smother the sound. Wouldn't want to wake the
parental units upstairs. She wasn't laughing. She was
joking. Wasn't she? "Lia —" "Luna," she said. "I've taken the
name Luna." Her eyes fixed on mine. To gauge my reaction, I guess. Or
seek my approval. What did it matter what I thought? "Why change?" I yawned. "You've
always been —" "Lia's too close. Lia Marie. It's just too close." She crossed my
bedroom, blazing a trail through the layer of clothes and other crap on my
floor. As she passed under the window, she stopped and pivoted. The moon cast
an eerie glow through my basement window. A spotlight. A spray of luminescent
beams. "Luna," she repeated softly, more to
herself than me. "Appropriate, wouldn't you say? A girl who can only be
seen by moonlight?" It hit me suddenly, my exhaustion. Or weariness
of it all. "Go to bed, Luna." I snuggled down into my comforter and
punched my pillow, willing myself back to sleep. It'd take me hours to drift
off again, especially if she stayed to do her makeup. And she would. I studied her through a slit eye. Something was
different. A change had come over her. Nothing physical. More a shift in her
cosmos — or maybe a crack. "I can see your bra straps," I told
her. "You need to buy a strapless." "Really?" She twisted her head to peer
over her shoulder. "Do you have one?" "Get real. Even if I did, you're not wearing
my underwear." "It wouldn't fit anyway. I'm at least a C
cup." I blew out a puff of air. "You wish."
Rolling over, I muttered, "You're such a freakshow." Her hair splayed across my pillow, tickling my
face. "I know," she murmured in my ear. "But you love me,
don't you?" Her lips grazed my cheek. I swatted her away. As I heard her slog across the floor toward my
desk — where she'd unveiled her makeup caddy in all its glory — a sigh of
resignation escaped my lips. Yeah, I loved her. I couldn't help it. She was
my brother. |
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