crack up laughing, and Afton would be sitting next to me crisscross with the smallest of smiles on her face. That was it. The most you can usually get out of Afton is a quick, amused exhalation, a laugh-breath. If that.
Imagine our surprise, then, when she brought this boy home for dinner last year. Logan, she said his name was, there to win us all over to his side. And he did. Easily. He was handsome, tall with wavy black hair that looked like he put an effort into. He was always dressed well, too, with a little more flair than most boys bother with. A boy with style, which of course made sense, because Afton is nothing if not stylish herself. He made all the requisite charming small talk to Mom and Pop, had Abby wrapped around his finger in about five seconds flat, and then, as we were passing the green beans around the table, Logan said something to Afton, something that I didn’t catch because he said it soft, just for her.
And Afton tilted her head back and actually laughed.
It was like a sudden gust against wind chimes, that laugh, an unexpected music.
That was the night of the camper trailer, I think. And I remember thinking, too, as I was drawing this sketch, lost in a feeling of being half happy for her, half dismayed because I had to suddenly share my sister’s time with this guy, that this time Afton was really in love. And that was okay. That’s what happens with sisters. Boys take us away from each other. But not really, right, because sisters are forever?
I frown. I don’t know what to think about her laughing at Michael. She can’t be in love with Michael Wong. She was still in love with Logan less than four days ago, and, in spite of what she and I seem to be fighting about constantly right now, I know that Afton’s not fickle. She’s not careful. But she’s also not dumb.
Maybe I’m putting too much importance on this expression. Maybe Michael just said something really funny in response to her spilling salsa on herself.
It doesn’t have to mean anything, this laugh.
The guitar guy starts playing a cover of “She’s Got a Way” by Billy Joel. Michael and Afton get up to dance. Double barf.
I gesture for the waiter to bring the check. I was here first, but I feel like I’m intruding on my sister’s date. Spying on her. Watching her now, I’m not sorry I didn’t tell her about Mom’s affair, because of course she wouldn’t look so happy if she knew.
She spots me. Her expression darkens. I can practically hear what she’s thinking—Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?
I look away, guilty even though again it’s not my fault, give the waiter cash and tell him to keep the change, and head back toward the Ocean Tower. Afton keeps dancing, turning her face away from me. Laying her head on Michael’s shoulder.
26
“It’s your turn to take Abby for the day,” Mom announces when she comes in the next morning.
She’s addressing this to Afton.
Afton, who’s standing at the mirror putting on a pair of new dangly dolphin earrings when Mom makes this pronouncement, actually gasps in outrage. “But I took her on Monday!” she exclaims. (This being Thursday.) “Remember? Hula?”
“And Ada took her yesterday,” Mom says matter-of-factly. “So now it’s your turn.”
Afton looks stricken. “But I have . . . plans!”
I snort. Plans to get continue getting kissy with Michael, no doubt.
“Well, now you have plans with your little sister,” Mom says, spritzing perfume onto her wrists. “Michael will understand. He’s got a little sister, too.”
“Mom!”
“Deal with it.” Mom thrusts the hundred-dollar bill she usually bestows upon me into Afton’s hand, then goes out in her usual hurry.
Afton puts a hand on her hip and glares at me through the mirror. “What did you tell her about Michael?”
“Nothing.” It’s safe to say that I haven’t said more than a few words to Mom since Monday. But it’s possible that Mom spoke with Pop last night, and Pop knew about Michael, courtesy of Gabby Abby. The thought of Mom and Pop on the phone together, Mom acting all innocent as she relayed the details of our trip so far, makes my stomach clench. Everyone but me seems to be so adept at pretending away the truth.
“Can’t you—” Afton starts.
“I really can’t. I, too, have plans.” I finish rubbing myself down with sunscreen and put on my