by Traci Finlay
“But it would be fun!” Chrissy argued. “We want to save up to buy a car, that way you can stop carting us around everywhere,” she joked.
But Ian wasn’t drinking her Kool-Aid. “Forget about it. It’s out of the question.”
I glared at him. “Why? I can work if I want to! What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” But the fact that he’d called me Charlotte wasn’t lost on me; he was seriously against it.
Chrissy lowered her eyebrows, looking at me like an insulted fawn. “Talk to your dad when you get home. This one,” she rolled her eyes toward Ian, “is not the boss.”
“Keep it up,” Ian warned, gripping the steering wheel, his veins popping out of his hands, and I was glad it was Chrissy sitting next to him and not me.
I gave her a quick head shake, telling her to drop it. Oh, I fully intended on pursuing this, but not with Ian. Chrissy hadn’t seen Ian when provoked. Ever since our mom left, Ian was prone to temper tantrums of cataclysmic proportions.
I learned that the hard way when Ian and I had gotten into a fight and he threw a chair at the patio door, causing a Fourth-of-July of glass throughout the kitchen and into the living room. And at our first Thanksgiving without her, Dad and Ian had gotten into an argument, and Ian was so angry that he sent the table into somersaults, the dinner scattering like candy from a piñata, and left the broken dishes, food, and a sobbing little sister in his aftermath.
My dad told me it was Ian’s way of dealing with the loss of our mom—that it would pass, and try to be patient and understanding with him in the meantime. But I continued walking on eggshells throughout the years. The episodes were few and far between, but I was able to recognize his tendencies and would divert the situation whenever I sensed a tantrum stirring.
It took six minutes to convince my dad to support Operation Minimum Wage, despite Ian’s incessant refuting. But when the discussion was over and I excitedly shoved my fists through the sleeves of my jacket, I saw Ian storm into my room and slam the door. I wondered what he was doing in my room as I skipped out the door toward Chrissy’s house to tell her the good news, promising to be home in time to cook dinner.
It wasn’t until after dinner was over and I was headed to my room to do homework that my question was answered. My backpack dropped to the carpet as Ian’s revenge unfolded in front of me.
The first thing I noticed was the top of my dresser—swiped clean of my picture frames now broken on the floor. My Bluetooth speaker was upside down, a mangled mess of wires bursting from where the face once was. I swallowed when I saw the dent in the wall, and my eyes trailed down to my ballerina music box—a gift for my fifth birthday—a splintered heap amongst my jewelry, the pinky-finger ballerina lying charred in a recently burned Yankee candle.
Ian was mean. He was really, really mean.
I didn’t tell Chrissy about it (and I was too scared to confront Ian about it), and on our first night of work at Ashby’s Homemade Michigan Ice Cream, Ian pretended he never destroyed my bedroom; he was actually our number one customer. He’d stroll in during our shift, asking for his “usual,” and either Chrissy or I would shovel two scoops of Superman-flavored ice cream into a waffle cone. Then he’d call for the manager and insist that he give these two fine young ladies raises.
The first day Chrissy begrudgingly worked solo, I’d come to bring her lunch and tell her about a DM I’d received on Instagram from Jason Dobson—a boy who never spoke to me at school, but decided to ask me out over cyberspace after liking all my posts, and I wanted to shriek with Chrissy at his audacity.
I was skipping up the steps clutching a fast food bag when I discovered Chrissy and Ian sitting across from each other at a picnic table. Both were leaning into the other, Ian’s hands inches from Chrissy’s. Chrissy’s valentine face glowed, and Ian’s grin stretched from ear to charming ear.
I cleared my throat, and they both jumped, breaking back into the atmosphere.
“Oh, my lunch! Thanks, Charlotte. You’re the best,” Chrissy gushed as I handed her the bag and set her Sprite on the table.
Ian scooted down and patted the bench, and I sat next to him as Chrissy vandalized her lunch. I reached for a napkin and wiped my palm. “The condensation from your pop soaked my hand. It’s hot out.”
“I know. And the air conditioning’s going out on my truck.” Ian smacked his hands on the table. “I should take it to the shop. Chuck, if it’s going to be really expensive to fix, can I borrow some money?” He stood and slapped his hands on my shoulders, buttering me up with a massage.
I purred and closed my eyes. “Massage me like this every night, and I’ll sign my paychecks over to you.”
“Ha!” Ian bellowed. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d marry you.” And he cantered off to his truck.
Chrissy stared after him with a disgusted look, and when his truck zorched from the parking lot, she looked at me. “Did he really just leave like that?”
I felt sad for Chrissy. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever they had going on here. And Ian pretty much ignored her once I interrupted. I decided to talk to Ian later; for a guy who got so many girlfriends, he didn’t know how to properly romance.
I watched Chrissy nibbling her burger, her eyes hoarding the ghosts of flirting past. “So, it looks like you and my brother might be putting a rush order on that marriage?” And according to plan, Chrissy looked up and grinned, a twinkle resurfacing, but it quickly darkened. “Why would he ask you for money? He’s the adult, right? Doesn’t he have a job?”
I sighed, because people still didn’t understand. “He does have a job, but with my mom gone, he’s been helping my dad financially. Plus, he’s saving again for Ann Arbor. I feel so guilty that he gave that up when she left. He wanted to help Dad with me.” I shrug. “That makes me feel awful. So I try to help as much as I can, too.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Charlotte. And that’s sweet of him, too, to sacrifice so much for you. He’s really a great guy.” Her cheeks warmed again, and I sat back satisfactorily. I’d make one hell of a marriage counselor for these two.
Footsteps on the stairs caused me to look up and see Jason Dobson bashfully ascending, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Chrissy about the message yet.
“Hi, Charlotte. Hi, Chrissy.”
“How are you, Jason?” I asked, snatching up my phone and frantically texting Chrissy a screenshot of Jason’s message.
He sat next to me, where Ian had been. “Fine. How are you girls? Are you working now?”
Chrissy’s phone chimed as I shoved mine in my pocket.
I shook my head, but Chrissy tossed the rest of her burger in the bag and stood, glancing at her phone and suppressing a smile. “I am, actually. And I really need to get back. Charlotte, I’ll see you tonight.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and winked at me, and my urgent telepathic messages to stay were intercepted by Jason’s eager farewells. Chrissy threw her bag away, winked again, and pranced inside. “Bye, Jason,” she called.
“Bye, Chrissy,” he said. And then we were alone. “So how’d you end up doing in algebra?” he asked, straddling the bench so he was fully invading my personal space.
I leaned away from him. “I got an eighty-six percent.” I made a face and shrugged. “How about you?”
“Oh, well … I got a ninety-seven,” he said sheepishly, and I shoved his shoulder in mock disgust. He chuckled. “I can tutor you if you want.”
I tilted my head. “Well, I mean, if I’m ever failing algebra, then sure. But an eighty-six is far from failing. Thanks for the encouragement, though. Glad you think I’m stupid,” I teased, and his apologies ran deeper than the scarlet in his cheeks. This was fun. “I’m just kidding, Jay.”
“Good. So you saw my message on Instagram?”
I nodded, watching him squirm. He was really cute.
“Sooo … what do you think?”
I sighed loudly. “Well, I think it’s weird that you don’t talk to me at all at school, but you
ask me out over Instagram. I mean, I don’t think you’re weird, I just think it’s weird you did that.” There. No one could accuse me of lying. Or having tact.
He winced like that wasn’t the answer he was anticipating. “Well, you’re always with your friends. You and Chrissy are. And I don’t really know them that well.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know me that well, either.”
“So is that a no?” he asked, his aura deflating.
I grinned—now I was just being mean. “I’m not saying no. But if you’re wanting to get to know a girl, you really can’t get to know her through Insta.”
“No, I mean, I know that. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“I’m working.” I frowned. “You can visit me at work and maybe we can grab something to eat after?” I suggested.
“Are you asking me out?” he joked.
I giggled, probably a little girlier than I meant to.
He stood. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
I couldn’t prepare for the massive grin that escaped across my face. “Okay.” I tinkled my fingers at him as he pounded down the steps to his car. I couldn’t wait any longer; I blew through the door before he was even out of the parking lot, squealing at Chrissy.
The bell jingled merrily as Chrissy and I gallivanted into Ashby’s the next day.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” pealed a voice akin to the bell.
“Hi, Rhonda,” Chrissy greeted. “Are we relieving you today?”
“Yes. Jean had to leave a little early, so it’ll be just you two until seven,” Rhonda answered as she filled syrup bottles and restocked Styrofoam cups.
“We can do that, Rhonda,” I offered. “You can go.”
Rhonda clipped shifty glances, unsure if I was being sarcastic. So I smiled at her—genuinely smiled; I definitely overdid it. “Okay,” she finally replied. “Don’t forget to put the receipts in the cashbox.”
We nodded as Rhonda clomped to the door. “And no more messing around, you two.” And the bell chimed its concurrence.
I made a face and reached for my timecard. “I have a feeling Rhonda doesn’t like us.” I punched my card as Chrissy grinned and sifted through the rest of the stack.
“I think she does. I just feel sorry for her.”
“Of course you do,” I yawned.
“Where’s my timecard?” Chrissy asked, flipping through all the cards for a third time. “Why would my timecard be missing?”
“What? Here, give me those.” I grabbed the stack from her, and Chrissy searched around the floor and in the back office.
She darted out in a panic. “This is crazy! I need to clock in, or I’ll be considered late!”
We searched through worker manuals and employee files when the clanging of the bell disrupted us. I looked up. “Oh, it’s just my brother.”
Chrissy dropped the folder of fresh timecards and they skated all over the tile.
“Excuse me, what is going on back here?” Ian asked in a mock authoritative voice. “This looks like absolute chaos. Who left you two in charge?”
“Not now, E. We’re in the middle of a crisis,” I said, clawing the timecards off the floor.
“Looking for this?” he said, and Chrissy and I jerked our eyes up to a manila slip pinched between his fingers next to his playful smirk.
“My timecard!” Chrissy cried, leaping to grab it from him. “Ian, you jerk! Now I’m clocking in late.” She slashed the card through the timestamp then leaned across the counter to land an effeminate punch on his arm.
He shrugged it off. “It needed to be done. Now then, my usual.”
I shook my head. “No way. We have the right to refuse service to anyone who steals our timecards.”
Ian turned to me, raising an eyebrow. “Are you really doing this? You know you’re asking for it, right?”
I met his challenging stare, and he surged over the counter and tackled me. “Ian, get out!” I squealed as he wrapped himself around my back, pinning my arms down. “You’re gonna get us in trouble! Let go of me!”
“I’ll let go if Chrissy gives me a kiss,” he said.
I froze, and Chrissy’s jaw made like a pendulum. “What?” she squeaked.
“Do you girls want to get back to work? Or do you want customers coming in here and witnessing this insanity?”
I gasped. “Ian, let go! Someone’s coming!” I tried wiggling free, but Ian was holding me so tightly I couldn’t move.
“Nope. Not until I get kissed.”
Chrissy’s mouth lingered behind her cupped hands, her eyes wide as they darted back and forth between us Stahl siblings acting like lunatics and the herd of ice cream anticipators skipping up the sidewalk.
“Chrissy!” I hissed, hunched over and drowning in Ian. “Please! He’s about to rupture my spleen. Just kiss him already!”
Chrissy tiptoed to Ian and pecked him on the cheek.
He shook his head.
“Chrissy!” I yelled hoarsely. “They’re coming! Hurry … ow!” And Chrissy grabbed Ian’s face and smashed her lips onto his mouth, and why was my best friend and my brother making out literally four inches from my ear? I was never so uncomfortable in my life, and not just because my hundred-and-eighty-pound brother was on my back. Chrissy pulled away and stepped back, staring at the stealthy half-smile on his lips as he dropped me, and I crumpled to the floor.
They held eye contact long enough for me to peel myself off the ground and snap them back to reality. I shoved my finger in Ian’s face. “This is no time for sly tricks!” The door flung open, the bell chirping in our faces as a group of four kids and their parents demanded our attention while Ian stood behind us, pretending to micromanage.
I flashed peeks at Chrissy, who was so flustered she couldn’t concentrate on the sundae she was making. I smiled to myself. I knew Chrissy had been wanting to kiss Ian for a while now. I knew she’d want to talk about it later, and I just needed her to promise that the next time she kissed him, neither of them would be on my back.
The shop held a steady flow of customers, and just as it began dwindling, Jason slipped in the door. Chrissy and I winked at each other. “Hi, Jason!”
“Hi, ladies,” he greeted, then nodded at Ian with vibrant intimidation.
The atmosphere suddenly turned chilly as Ian crossed his arms and stared at him. Jason ignored him and leaned across the counter toward me. “What time do you get off?” he said quietly.
“Um, seven.”
He positioned himself in front of me so that I was blocking him from Ian’s line of vision. “You wanna get something to eat?” he whispered.
I began nodding eagerly until I felt a shadow over me.
“Hey! Buddy!” Ian said threateningly. “You here to get ice cream or what?”
Jason retracted from the counter and looked back and forth from Ian to me. “Um, no, actually. I’m here to—”
“Because Charlotte’s trying to work, and I’m pretty sure you’re distracting her.”
I gave Ian a dirty look. “Shut up! You’ve been more of a distraction tonight than anyone, so just stop. Jason and I are talking.”
Ian grabbed my arm and roughly transferred me, taking my place directly in front of Jason. “What are you here for?” he demanded, bracing his hands on the counter to better acquaint himself with Jason’s eye level.
Jason took a step back. “I’m just … I was going to take her out after her shift.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Ian announced.
I grabbed his arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ian shook me off. “Do you know who I am?”
“Uh, yeah. You’re her brother.”
“Damn right,” he answered, stabbing his finger in Jason’s chest. “And no one dates my sister without talking to me first.”
I was fifty shades of mortified. “Ian, you’re not my dad! Jason, don’t listen to him. He’s being stupid,” I called from my holding cell at Ian’s flank.
Ja
son shrugged. “Okay, I respect that. Let’s talk.” And I found it ironic that I was the topic of this heated conversation, yet I was being ignored completely.
“How old are you?” Ian asked, eyeing him up and down like a dripping side of raw beef.
I watched Jason’s pants quivering near the knees, but he looked Ian square in the eye. “Sixteen.”
“Where are you taking her?” Ian continued.
“I don’t know yet. We were just talking about it,” he answered.
“I’m going to need to know where exactly you plan on taking her. What do you drive?” Ian gazed out the window into the parking lot.
“Impala. That black one right there.” Jason motioned toward his car.
“Yeah? It’s got a big backseat?”
Jason bit his cheek. “Uh, it’s whatever.”
“Were you planning on getting back there with my sister tonight?”
I wanted to crawl under the counter and disappear. Jason rubbed his forehead. “N-no. No, I just wanted to—”
“How about kissing her? Were you planning on kissing her?”
I clapped my hands over my face. “Jason, you don’t have to answer this nonsense. Ian, that’s enough!”
“No, no. This guy’s a pervert. Why don’t you take a hike, man? Get out.” Ian waved his hand toward the door. “Charlotte’s going home after work tonight.”
“No!” I yelped, and Jason looked like a snowball filled with barbed wire hit him in the chest as he took tiny steps backward.
Chrissy, googly-eyed, reached over and grabbed my hand.
“Goodbye, Jeremy!” Ian shooed him out the door.
Jason looked at me in surrender. “Forget it, Charlotte. I guess I’ll see you in school Monday.” And he walked out.
I hauled off and punched Ian’s bicep as hard as I could. “What is the matter with you?” I shrieked and punched him again. “I like him a lot! What is your problem?” I slapped him in the chest.
Chrissy nodded in disgust. “Yeah, that was really messed up. Charlotte’s been talking about going out with him all day.”
