"Nutella banana sandwich?" I call into my bedroom, shutting the door with my foot.

"YES, PLEASE!" Lucas exclaims, jumping from my beanbag and nearly leaping at me.

Holding it out of his reach behind me, I say, "Not for you, dummy. For me. I spent half an hour outside with the hose and then another half hour in the shower. Oh, and did I mention that it was all your fault? 'Cause, it was." I narrow my eyes at him, staring malignant daggers through him.

His hands fly into the air as he gives me his most innocent look. "Proof or it didn't happen."

"That again?"

"Proof or it didn't happen," he repeats.

"Oh, I have proof," I reply, storming into the bathroom for my mud-soiled clothes. "How am I supposed to explain this to my parents, huh?"

"Tell them your dog pushed you in."

"We don't have a dog—hold on, I get it."

"That's not what I meant," he mumbles, sinking further into my beanbag. Thankfully, I was able to sneak him a towel, and he wasn't currently soaking my favorite reading spot.

"You're the one who said 'treat'," I return, folding my arms.

"As in treating you to ice cream."

"You said you were going to fetch it."

"Point taken."

"Anyways," I continue after a moment's pause. "I have homework to do." His eyes follow me as I walk to my backpack, pulling out my books and folders and setting them on the bed. Eventually, he turns to his own bag to start his homework.

We sit in silence for what seems like hours before the sound of footsteps coming down the hall toward my bedroom breaks my concentrated state. My eyes go wide, and I leap from my bed. In one swift move, I cover Lucas' laying figure with my duvet and stifle his muffled cries by laying down on top of him with my book set on his head. With an elbow to his neck, I manage to keep him down as my mom walks into the bedroom.

"Hey, mom," I greet, drawing out the 'hey'. "What's up?"

With a start, my mom's eyes go wide, and she sweeps across the room toward me. I'm scared she's discovered the fishy-looking lump beneath me, so I adjust slightly, making sure the blanket is fully covering Lucas.

"Are you alright?" she questions carefully, coming up dangerously close to set a hand against my forehead. "Goodness, you have a fever!"

"No, I don't!"

Lucas groans as my elbow digs into his shoulder.

"And aching too!"

Ah, shoot.

"That was my chair!" I exclaim.

"There's no one on your chair—" She's cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Both our heads snap to my desk, where Emilie's sitting with her legs crossed and her back rigid. "I suppose I spoke too soon."

I have never been so happy to see—

She gives me the, 'don't let go of your breath yet, loser'. 'You still have to get through me,' she says with her eyes. Then, turning innocently to our mom, she says, "She always looks that sickly pale." Giving me a smug look she continues, "If you ask me, one slap across the face will give her just the right life into her thin face." She rises from my desk chair and looms before our mother, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face the door. "Go on, finish dinner. I'm greatly expecting your layered dip and tacos."

Laughing, my mom begins taking leave herself. "Alright, alright!" Finally, she slips out of my room, and I find myself relaxing slightly.

Slightly.

Honestly, Emilie's probably a hundred times worse—

"Alright, loser, who's under the blanket?" the girl questions with a hand on her hip. When I don't reply she paces over to me to cast her shadow over me. "Get up, sis. I didn't get my preferred eight hours of sleep last night, so I'm grumpy."

"I see that. I mean," I correct quickly. "I don't know what you're talking about. There is absolutely nothing under this. You think there's something under here? How about you check? Actually, don't. It's none of your business! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO ANYTHING—"

"No eye contact. Excess information. Hair biting. I'm no expert—actually I am—but you sound like you're lying. Actually, you are lying. So tell me who's under the blanket, pay me a million dollars, or face the consequences of me telling Dad."

"Congrats!" I exclaim, still not moving from my uncomfortable spot on top of Lucas. "I now owe you a million dollars."

She scoffs, grabbing my arm a pulling me off my blanket with strength I didn't know she had.

"Oh, hey, Lucas!" she exclaims with a wave as he emerges from the fluffy blanket. "You're in so much trouble, Paris!" She giggles as she gives Lucas a quick hug.

"How are you a raging she-beast when you're talking to me, but an angelic princess with literally anyone else?"

"Aw, Paris, don't worry, you're not that special. Jessica stole my cupcake in kindergarten, and I haven't talked to her ever since. Jackson touched my hair, and I tripped him in the hall. Liam pushed me during P.E, and I—"

Ｆｏｒｇｉｖｅｎｅｓｓ

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧.

Ｆｏｒｇｉｖｅｎｅｓｓ

N𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍!? 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

"We get it, Emilie," I cut her off.

"Hey, look, Emilie, how about this?" Lucas injects, getting up from his seated position on the floor. "I was going to give Paris a ticket to my concert a week from Saturday, and I have an extra one. How would you like to go?"

Leaping into the air screaming, Emilie exclaims, "Would I? Would I!?"

"If you don't get Paris in trouble, it's all yours," he finishes, fishing the ticket out of his pocket and waving them before her.

The girl bites her lip as she bounces on the balls of her feet, debating whether the exchange is worth it. "Fine!" she yells suddenly, snatching the ticket and running from the room.

"Thanks, Lucas—"

"This isn't over, though!" Emilie exclaims, poking her head into my bedroom before racing away again.

I ignore her as I turn back to Lucas. "So, you were going to ask me to go to one of your concerts?" I question.

"Have you ever gone to one?" he asks, shuffling nervously with this hand at the nape of his neck.

"Can't say I have," I return.

"Well, then, I hope you'll go! But for now, I have to go..." He gives a small laugh. "See you tomorrow." After handing me the ticket, he gives me a small wave and packs up his bag. I watch as he slips out of my bedroom and into the backyard, just like I showed him before.

"See ya." I wave to his no longer visible figure.