Prom problems

Mom keeps serving waffles, oblivious to Ashley happily palming her new, braless rack. A simple grin is plastered across your typically dour sister's face. She blows her bottle blonde hair out of her eyes and giggles when the lock immediately falls back into place. The makings of a bimbo infinite loop [ed. dibs on Bimfinite Loop as story name] form in front of you as she attempts to blow it out of the way again.

While decidedly hot, this blonde bimbo isn’t your sister and lame things like “ethics” are starting to flit across your morning brain. Plus, you think you see steam coming out of her ears as the pesky lock of hair falls back into place, and her eyes narrow. Before your bimbo sister blows a gasket you erase the line and, presto, glossy bleach blonde gives way to tawny frizz. That's good information: you can undo stuff.

“Happy birthday, dweeb,” regular Ashley allows, food only barely staying in her mouth. You roll your eyes. Her Dourness has returned. Damnable ethics.

The two of you were thick as thieves once. Evidence still hangs on the walls: Ashley climbing on your back, building sand castles, hugging. The pictures are honestly vestigial now; that Ashley doesn't exist. Mom starts to harangue Ashley for college gossip. You grip the notebook tighter.

If the 1 year age difference was a gulf between the two of you in high school, her having graduated has made it so you're not even on the same planet. Forget hanging out: Ashley rarely even speaks to you now. She's too busy with the college friends that she now regales to mom. You miss having someone to sit with in the school cafeteria – even if you are sheepishly glad Ashley chose to keep living at home. (She still made sure you and Mom know it had been a “fiscally-motivated decision.”)

Mopping up the last bit of syrup, Ashley's defrosted a bit and jaws to Mom about her architecture midterms. Truthfully, Mom's “big meal” is no bigger than normal. There have only been three places set around the table for many months. Something happened between Mom and dad last year, and Mom was, pardon the pun, staying mum about it – “We just had our differences, sweetheart.”

What you do know is that Dad's living on the opposite coast. And he hasn't returned your calls since he moved. And you miss him.

And then prom's coming up. You've all but surrendered to going stag. You have approx. zero friends at school, and navigating dating as a virgin with just a bitchy sister and a mother to talk to was, uh, terrible. Mom's been a faithful advocate the entire way, but what high school boy wants their Mom as their best friend?

Senior year has not been a great time.

Your mopey reverie is interrupted by the clatter of Ashley depositing her dirty dishes. “Alright, I am actually out of here now. Later, dork.” Mom glares. “Oops, sorry. Birthday dork.” She snags her keys off the table and heads towards the door.

Ashley's toned legs march past you and you can almost admit to yourself that you watch them pass. It's a dark, hidden reaction. Maybe it doesn't have to be.

You glance down at the notebook. Your knuckles are nearly white from how hard you've been gripping it. Ashley's Converse squeak as she opens the front door. You relax your grip, and pick up the pencil. It's always erasable.