Eighteen
After a week, even Bell is fed up with Warren’s moping. She shoves a plate of bread towards him, glaring.
“Will you eat, please?”
Warren groans and pushes the plate away. Solma’s bread feels like sand in her mouth as she watches her little brother’s head drop heavily onto the table. Torn between fear and annoyance, she kicks him in the shin.
“Warren, you gotta eat!”
Warren ignores her. Sometimes she thinks the sole aim in a little brother’s life is to irritate his older sister. Warren can turn that into an art when he wants. Today, Solma is done with it.
“Eat your bread, Warren!”
Now, Bell is somehow on Warren’s side again. “Don’t shout at him!” she snaps. “He’s just a kid—”
“You just shouted at him!”
“I did not,” Bell says, with that infuriating superiority she has. “I g
