Pushing daisies.

"What are you doing."

A voice that had tired of the world down pat. Paul knew exactly the one.. And so did his stiffening spine. "Nothing," he spun back to see his older sister staring back at him, lids halfway down her eyes. They read, 'I know everything you're doing, and it's disgusting.'

Then they rolled up, and down, as she walked off, retreating into the restroom at the end of the hall.

Paul swallowed.

Hey, he thought, I got the photo.

Mind back on track, the young man turned his eye to the screen on his phone. A chuckle escaped a lung or two. Amelia was going to be looking quite scandalous once he had this uploaded. Just you wait.

He ducked into his room and closed the door shut.

Sinking into his creaky wheeled chair, he swiped over to his sister's Instagram and logged into her account. She still hadn't changed her account information since the last time he saw it, which he swore he wasn't even trying to do. It wasn't his fault that she taped it up on her wall! She should try, like, MNEMONIC DEVICES or something.

Either way, her account was now his. Despite the fact that he had blatant access to her social profile, he was actually not interested in hijacking it for anything nefarious until now. Now, with some ripe payback to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Okay, Amelia never posted revealing pictures of Paul in public ever, in his life, and probably wouldn't, for her own sanity. But the point still stands.

After uploading the pic, he sat back for a while, appreciating his handywork. Then, after waiting for a few minutes and realizing that it might take a while for this to come to Amelia's attention, his eyebrows sunk and he wheeled himself to his computer, booting up Doom.

It had been about twenty minutes.

"PAUL!"

The door practically flew off. Instead, it banged on his dresser, throwing a snowglobe that had been perched on it to the floor. Meanwhile, packed in a raging ball of fury, his ever lovely, angelic sister Amelia stood armed to the teeth at his doorway with nothing but spunk.

Paul, however, was concentrating on shooting a demon in the face. "Hey Amelia, what's u--"

The girl marched over. Without a single warning, she pulled his keyboard out from under his fingers, took a step back, and threw it out his conveniently open window. Then, she grabbed his phone, which had been sitting on his bed, and threw that out too, and marched away.

Maven had been washing her hands when she heard the loud "BIIIIITCH!" erupt from a room away. Drying her palms on the given towel, she took out her phone, put on a Daft Punk album, and raised the volume up, planting two earbuds inside either lobe. She then opened the door, and flitted down the staircase.

With a sigh, she settled into the lounging chair outside, equipped a pair of sunglasses, and lay back.

"Ohmigod gurl! Showin' skiin!"

"nice legs Ames"

"Uhhh dis u Amelia?"

"hacked?"

"Daayum didnt no u had clothes like that"

A snicker, a snort, a willy wonka hoot in a fort. Whatever that sound was, Paul was clearly taking some enjoyment out of the comments left under his sister's new Instagram pic. Crazy that she hadn't deleted it yet. She probably forgot, soaked as she was in the embarrassment. And anger. And all the other bad, non-happy emotions.

That's right sis, take that, he thought to himself with a smirk. Friken Amelia. Barging into his room like that and breaking his stuff. Now his cellphone was gone, too. He had to go on his computer, without a keyboard, and bring up the accessibility accommodating onscreen version just to log onto Instagram to see the fruits of his labour.

Wait, he brightened, I'm, like, the owner of everything, right? Can I just get a new one?

Before he could put his theory to practice, however, there was a knock on his door.

"Paul," his mother emerged, a stern look on her face. "We need to talk."

Paul groaned. "Moom."

"All three of us."

Paul groaned louder.