Page 12 of Switched

Her eyes are always sparkling, and she’s basically always excited about something.

She looks back at me, her eyebrows rising. “Your neighbors just made up after one hell of a fight.”

“I’ve literally never met anyone in this building, so I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

Blinking, she glances me over and frowns, before she announces, “I think this is going to have to be a make-over montage instead of an ice-cream movie-thon.”

I roll my eyes as I step back to let her in. “No thanks. I’m just exercising my right to be comfortable.”

She walks into the apartment and takes a look around the kitchen as I close the door.

“So, this is the fancy writer’s apartment in the city. Nice.”

“Like you didn’t come out here and help me paint it when I moved in.”

“Oh, yeah. I did, didn’t I? Best sister ever.”

“I thought I won that award back when Mom found out about your tattoo.”

“Right,” she agrees, nodding. “That was an inspired call, telling her it was for a music video.”

“The coverup foundation did the real work.”

“That stuff is incredible,” she admits.

Mom probably would have gotten over it, eventually.

I don’t think it’s a thing she has against body art as much as it’s the thought that one of us did something that created an undeniable way to tell us apart.

Like one tattoo stops us from being identical.

We still look exactly like we always have.

Scarlett just has a snarling red dragon on her right side now.

It’s pretty much only ever on show if she wears a bikini.

I guess a top with rips down the side shows it, too.

She puts her jacket down on top of mine and then dumps a bag from a local store beside them.

“Happy hump day, best sister ever,” she says, as she opens the bag and brings out a massive package of salted popcorn, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of cola, and a carton of vanilla ice-cream. She leans back against the counter in front of the microwave. “So, who is this asshole Ben, and where can I find him to cut his dick off?”

I pick my phone up and open the Every Beta app.

It takes seconds to find his profile.

I show her the page, and she raises an eyebrow.

“You met the guy on a dating app?”

“Nope, that’s just where he was fishing for other women while we were together.”

She takes the phone out of my hand. “Ugh. What a dog, and not the cute kind. He deserves to be put down.” She looks up. “Wait … Saph, you have a profile on here …”

“Yeah, I know. I made it after I found his, so I could dump him through it.”

“Ah.” She nods. “So that’s why your profile states no matches with guys named Ben.”

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