11
Jack
I grip my sister’s purse, and stand outside the changing room in some poofy dress shop. Sissy has a date to the prom. I grind my teeth. My little sister is going to the prom so some football-playing meathead can—
Sissy swings open the door and steps out. She’s in a miniskirt dress thing. Too mini. Really, too mini. I have images of beefy football player hands sneaking up.
“No,” I say.
She stops mid step. “But—”
“No.”
She scowls at me. “This is the fifth dress I’ve tried on—”
“And they’ve all been terrible.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is Bert,”
“It’s Bret.”
“Bret,” I say, “getting all handsy on my sister.”
“He did not.”
“I saw you on the porch.”
“Are you kidding? Mind your own business. I’m fifteen. I’m allowed to have a boyfriend.”
