Page 17 of Broken Instrument

I swear I’m going to strangle her.

The six years between us might feel like a lifetime to me when she’s acting like a child, but in reality, it isn’t much. I know this. But all I want is a little bit of respect, and I feel like it’s the one thing she’s unwilling to give. Not to mention the constant bickering getting on my nerves. It’s like we’re siblings. But we aren’t. And when you combine the closeness in age along with the polar opposite personalities, we’re like oil and water. Oil and water who are supposed to be at the park in––I look at my phone––thirty seconds, even though it’s a ten-minute drive from here.

My annoyance spikes.

“You’re going for a run, Mia,” I remind her, my voice sickly sweet. “It’s not like you need your makeup to look perfect––”

She wrenches the door open. “Says the girl who basically lives in pajamas.”

“Perk of being an author,” I volley back. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.”

She grabs a black athletic jacket from the bathroom counter and slides her arms into it, leaving the zipper open to reveal her toned stomach and hot pink sports bra. The girl’s fit; I’ll give her that much. She must’ve gotten it from her mom’s side because my curvy figure wouldn’t be caught dead in something so revealing. And yes, I’m blaming the genes and not my addiction to chocolate or the fact I hate running with every fiber of my being. So sue me.

I follow behind her and grab my keys before we make our way to my car. She doesn’t say a word. Other than when we’re arguing, she hasn’t really said much since Isabella dropped her off yesterday. The only evidence I’ve had proving she hasn’t turned into a mute is the one-word answers I’ve been gifted with any time I ask her a question.

“How’s school going?”

“Fine.”

“Have you decided which college you want to attend?”

“Nope.”

“Totally get that. Which ones are you considering?”

“I’m gonna shower.”

Okay, the last one was three words, but you get my point. Chatty, she is not.

In silence, we drive to the park, my gaze darting toward her in the passenger seat every few minutes. I pull into the parking lot next to a giant grassy field with a dark asphalt bike path surrounding it.

Mia’s expression is hard, her eyes sharp as she scans the area.

“So?” she demands.

“Let me call him.”

“This wouldn’t have been an issue if you hadn’t gotten rid of her.”

Oh, look. More than three words.

I sigh and pull up Fender’s contact information, pushing the call button. As it rings, I watch an old car that has definitely seen better days pull into the parking lot. A gruff Fender answers, “Just got here. Sorry.”

“You’re fine. I’m in the white Camry.”

“I see it. I’ll be right there.”

Sure enough, the rusted black sedan’s driver-side door creaks open to reveal a sexy Fender who looks as drool-worthy as I remember. My attention shoots to Mia beside me, and her lips part in surprise. I don’t know why I’m curious to see her reaction. Maybe to prove I’m not insane for thinking the guy’s good-looking, but I’m not disappointed.

“That’s Dad’s friend?” she asks.

“Apparently.”

She gulps.

“I know, right? Remember you’re underage––”

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