“Do I text him, or don’t I?” I’d say that my life has reached an all-time low, since I’m soliciting romantic advice from a high schooler. However, said high schooler is my stepsister, Ava, and she’s wise beyond her years, hair dye mishaps aside.
“You can text him, but only once, so you’ve got to make it good.” She sips on her Coke and twirls her fries in ketchup, before popping them in her mouth.
“Only once? That’s a rule?”
“Pretty much, unless you want to look thirsty. That’s why you’ve got to make it count. You can’t just text some random chit-chat.”
I nod, digesting her wisdom as I enjoy my milkshake.
“On the other hand, you don’t want to come on too strong.”
“This is harder than I remember.”
“Is that because he matters more than anyone else ever did?” Ava asks.
“Or, is it because you’re old and can’t remember back that far?” Winn smirks, and Ava throws a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth, of course.
“Who decided to bring him along?”
“We’ve been through this a million times, Av. We can’t leave him at home.”
“Sadly.”
“Haha. Joke’s on you guys. I know exactly what you should do, Molls.”
“Oh my God, Winn. If you say she needs to go over to his place and show him her tits, I swear I’ll tell dad about your secret Pornhub stash.”
“First, I live by the firm belief that no one related to me has tits. And second, dude. Dad totally knows.” And with that statement, he goes back to chowing down on his burger.
“Wait a second, bud. You said you know what I should do, so spill.”
“Hand over your phone, Molls.”
“Molly, are you crazy? Don’t give him your phone. First of all, his hands are all greasy. Also, giving control of your phone and all its contents to your fifteen-year-old brother? That’s a big yikes.”
“She’s got a point about the hands,” I say, fishing for a wet nap in my bag. “As for the phone, I trust you, Winn. But don’t make me regret it.” I pin him with what I like to think is a steely glare, but it probably more closely resembles the face of a pissed-off kitten.
“Ok, but don’t come crying to me when he sends a TikTok of himself dancing to the best of Lil Yeezy to every one of your contacts.
“Don’t listen to her. You can trust me, Molls. Also, I’m a great dancer.”
I look at him and still see that chubby-cheeked little boy I used to carry around on my hip. I cave and hand him my phone.
His hands fly across the keyboard in about two seconds. “Done,” he announces and goes back to his double order of fries.
Shit. I’m afraid Ava was right. And I’m scared to pick up my phone. I stare at it like it’s a live animal that might bite me if I don’t approach it gently enough.
“What did you do, Winn?”
“Uh, exactly what you wanted me to, Molls. I fixed your problem, just like I said I would. Why are you staring at your phone like that? It’s not a rabid animal. Jeez. You guys have, like, no faith in me.”
I pick up my phone with great care, but I can’t look. God, what made me think giving Winn my phone was a good idea? “Here, Av, you look.” I close my eyes and thrust the phone in her direction, and she takes it.
“That’s some bullshit, Moll,” my brother complains. “Not only don’t you trust me, but you didn’t make Ava wipe her hands. Sisters are dumb.”
“Oh, my God, Winn, you are such an asshole,” Ava says.
Jesus. “What did he do, Ava?” I might actually be screaming at this point.
