Nothing is.
Chapter Four
Brendon
"You fucking asshole!" A pillow smacks into my bedroom door.
It's not a brick.
Or a knife. Or Emma's fist.
That's something.
I hit pause on my music. Emma's ragged breath replaces the rhythmic hum of The Clash.
It's funny. My sister is as punk rock as it gets. She doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks of her. She stands up for her friends no matter the circumstances. She dyes her own hair and sews half her clothes.
She's everything I wanted to be at sixteen.
Whereas—
I'm not exactly a square. I'm not sure you can be a square tattoo artist. But I'm a mortgage paying, Kelly Blue Book checking, Starbucks drinking upstanding member of society.
More or less.
If Mom could see me now...
She'd still think I'm a waste of space.
But she'd have to admit I have my shit together.
"Why the fuck am I hearing this from Mrs. Hart and not from you?" There's the fist against my door. "Brendon. Don't be a coward. Look me in the face when you admit you're conspiring to ruin my best friend's life."
My stomach drops.
Em is pissed.
She's right to be pissed.
And the only thing I can do is insist I'm the adult here.
That's being a parent. I knew what I was signing up for when I lobbied to be her legal guardian.
But that doesn't mean I like it.
Kaylee living here is what makes sense. She's a bright girl with a great future ahead of her. She should be in school. Even if it kills her not being with her family.
"Brendon!" Emma bangs on the door. "I'll give you twenty seconds to explain before I... I don't know. Do something to hurt you back."
"The door is open."
"I know. But—"
We have a strict ask permission before you enter policy. It saves both of us from a lot of awkwardness.
I close my sketchbook. "Come in."
She does. She's fuming. Her face is red. Her eyes are blotchy. Her hands are fists. "Well?"