Page 163 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Chapter 29

Knox

Jesus Christ, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I reach for the pack of cigarettes I keep in my pocket, but my little sister Mariella is fucking psychic.

“Don’t youdaresmoke that in here,” she says, sending me a death glare from across her expansive room. The wallpaper is pink, the bed is pink—why am I not surprised that the dress she plans on wearing to the Feast of Ashes is cotton candy pink too?

I pull my hand away from my pocket and kick back on my sister’s pink bed. “Seriously, Sissa, how long?”

“Knox, please!” My youngest sister, Cecilia, whines from Mariella’s walk-in closet. “This is art.”

“It puts its arms in the holes, or its brother fucks off without delivering his poignant commentary on its frilly dress.”

“Frills? Ew.”

“Give her a break, douche canoe,” Mariella says. “It’s her first Feast as awoman.”

Thatgets Cecilia out of the closet. She storms out with her fists in her dress, her pretty face scrunched up like a fuckingprune. “Ihateyou!” she yells, going at Mariella with clawed hands.

“Girls, girls,” I say calmly, stepping between them as they’re about to gouge out each other’s eyes.

I didnotneed to know Cecilia’s finally gotten her period, but that’s the kind of thing that seems unavoidable in this fucking household. I was the first to know when Mariella went on the rag—but that’s because it happened while I was driving her to ballet practice one day. Ever since then, I seem to be the first point of call for everything these two need to discuss. I guess because Mom’s so busy, or because I choose to listen.

Fuck knows why I do it to myself. These two could talk the ears off a statue.

“Tell her my dress is better than hers,” Cecilia demands, crossing her arms over her chest. At thirteen, she’s more developed than Mariella was at the same age, but Mariella’s been doing ballet and gymnastics and shit since she learned how to walk.

“You both look—” I begin, holding up my hands.

“Don’t!” they yell in unison.

“Christ,” I mutter, snatching my cigarettes out of my pocket. “I’m going outside for a fucking smoke, and when I get back, you two had better have decided what shoes you’re wearing because I’m not choosing for youagain.”

Putting up with my sisters’ fashion shows while they try to decide on their outfits gives me a migraine. From a young age I’ve been telling them what to wear, if only so we’deverbe on time for formal events.

“No, but Knox, wait—” Cecilia begins.

“Two pairs each, max,” I say, not bothering to look back as I head for Mariella’s door. “If I see more, I’m outta here.”

Their groans make me smile. A smile that fades when I step into the hallway and see my mom standing a few yards away. Sheglances at the cigarettes I’m holding, and for a second I think she’s going to tell me to put them away, but then she beckons me with a flick of her slim hand.

We head down the hall in silence. She opens her bedroom door and leads me through to the balcony. There’s an ashtray on the two-seater patio table. She points at it with a long, perfectly manicured fingernail. “Might as well get some use out of it,” she says stiffly.

I light my cigarette and drag in deep. It’s not my brand, but I’m not fussy about these things.

“Are you and your friends going stag to the Ashes dance?”Mom asks.

I know where she’s going with this, and I cut her off with a swipe of my hand. “Mom, no.”

She turns, blinking thick lashes at me, her blue eyes simpering. “Knox, sweetie, come on. At least if those two monsters go with Silas and Mason, I’ll know they’re not being groped in the bushes by some Neanderthals.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever called them,” I mumble around my cigarette, looking past her to the view.

“Your sisters or your friends?”

I laugh. “Both.”

She cracks a smile, but it’s faint and cold.

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