Page 10 of Spell Ya Later

“Hazel, I’m not an idiot. You can’t get out of this. Get sexy, I’ll be there in an hour. Remember, you promised to drive.” And with that, she hangs up.

Get sexy? I don’t even know what that means. I walk over to the closet in my bedroom and stare at my clothes. I’m flying blind, here. Maybe someday I’ll find a spell called Perfecto Outfit Immedius, but for now, I’m on my own.

It seems the best I have is a low-cut v-neck black shirt and tight—can I actually fit these over my ass?—skinny jeans. A little black eyeliner around my green eyes and mascara, and I’m ready to go.

Of course, Laura will say something along the lines of, “Are you seriously going out like that?” I’m used to it by now. She means well, and it’s that fact that saves her.

While I don’t have many reference points outside of old episodes ofCharmed, I suspect our sisterly relationship isn’t entirely normal. When Dad died, Mom changed. She distanced herself while also controlling our every movement. Skinned your knee and needed a hug? You’d get a Band-Aid and not even a kiss on the head. Wanted to go to a slumber party? Absolutely not. We were locked in the house and she threw away the key. That meant the emotional stuff fell to me. I was the one who soothed every nightmare, who taught Laura how to use a tampon; I spent my entire childhood trying to preserve hers.

The outcome? Laura gets out into the world more than I do because I cover for her, but she’s also a little immature, if I’m honest.

A few raps on the door interrupt my internal monologue.

“It’s annoying how inherently sexy you are without even trying. Did you even spend more than three minutes on your makeup?” Laura says instead of a greeting as I open the door.

She means well. But she and I both know I look nowhere near as good as she does.

“I think I spent five?” I give her a warm hug. She is wrapped in some too-tight contraption of a dress in a forest-green color. It makes her golden-brown eyes look even brighter, like liquid gold. Although that could be the masterfully crafted eyeshadow.

She scoffs. “Bitch. Let me see the place.”

I move to the side and allow her to step in.

“Ugh! This is all yours?”

“Yep.”

“Such a bitch.” She smiles at me.

I wrap my arm around her waist. “Did you want to go to whatever awful place you’re planning on taking me? Or would you like to gape at my fabulous apartment and call me a bitch a few more times?”

“Is that a trick question? Because I’m enjoying the gaping,” she replies with a smile, perfect white teeth glinting.

“Come on, commence your torture.”

“You have fun every single time we hang out. I don’t know why you put up this charade, but you’re only hurting yourself,” Laura says with a nod as I lock the door.

I silently roll my eyes and follow her down the stairs to the road.

And then I see it. My feet stop on the sidewalk.Oh God, she didn’t.

“Laura . . .”

She turns to face me. “I know you hate my car, but I couldn’t very well borrow Mom’s when both of you refuse to speak to each other. And you won’t get your own, so here we are.”

I glare at the Pepto Bismol-pink Prius sitting at the curb. I’d rather rip each of my fingernails off than be seen in her ridiculous car. The car I forced Mom to get for Laura so she could go to college.

She only gave in on the condition that Laura would live at home, and that I wouldn’t take classes myself. Giving up my college education for my sister? All in a day’s work.

“I hate you a little bit more every time I see this thing.”

A roll of her eyes is her only reply.

I get behind the wheel of the Pink Puke Mobile, resigned to my fate. I am the Queen of the Barbie Car.

I hate it here.

Laura talked me into coming to the ‘hip’ new bar called Matchstix in Lakewood. It’s obnoxiously dark—and worse, filled with people our age.Humanpeople.