Page 1 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

Lacey

I’m going to kill her.

Scratch that—I’m going to track her down, drag her back home, andthenI’m going to kill her.

I’d like to say I’m not half bad at taking care of my siblings, but if the past year and a half has taught me anything, it’s that I have no idea what I’m doing at least ninety-five percent of the time.

In my defense, I didn’t know I was going to become responsible for Oliver and Sierra, my younger brother and sister, not even a week after my high school graduation. Life just has a way of throwing you a curveball when you least expect it.

I tear through my sister’s bedroom, stop near her opened window, and shiver at the night breeze wafting through my pj’s.

She snuck out the window.

She snuck out the fucking window.

That’s the second time she’s done that in the five weeks we’ve lived in this house.

My mistake was taking a bath after I made them dinner. How long has she been gone?

Ten minutes?

Forty-five?

Man, I must be the worst legal guardian the world’s ever seen.

I dial my sister’s number and bring my phone to my ear, cursing beneath my breath as I pace around the room.

It starts ringing.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

The first call goes to voicemail.

No surprise there. I’m on Sierra’s blacklist these days. She says I ruined her life by pulling her out of her old school so we could move out here.

Our new place is much closer to campus and the café where I work, not to mention much bigger than the two-bedroom dump where we lived before—she even has her own room now instead of having to share with Oli—but that doesn’t matter to her.

She hates my guts for taking her away from her friends and making her transfer school right after Christmas.

I’ve tried to explain to her that this is the only way I can afford to support us while in college, but if there’s one thing you need to know about Sierra Mattson, it’s that she’s as stubborn as she is cynical.

Oh, and she thinks she’s always right.

As most sixteen-year-old girls do.

I hang up and call her right back. My call goes straight to voicemail—no surprise there. I lose my temper the moment thebeeprings in my ear.

“Where thehellare you? You better come home right this second, young lady!” I cringe at my responsible parent act. EvenI’mnot buying it. “Since you had to sneak out instead of asking for permission, I’m going to assume you’re somewhere you have no business being. Come home! Now! Or I swear I’m donating your clothes to the homeless shelter down the street.”

I hang up the phone, racking my brain for a plan of action. I need to get her home before she lands herself in trouble or does something stupid that might result in the court deeming me an unfit guardian.

Losing custody of my siblings is, by far, my biggest fear. It has been since the day I took them in.

I remember getting the call like it was yesterday. Our dad had just unexpectedly passed in a car crash, and they had no one. No distant relative, no family friend, not one soul willing to step up and take care of them.

I knew right away it had to be me.

The alternative was abandoning them to the foster system, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t get separated. I couldn’t stomach the thought of them losing each other after they’d just lost the only parent in their life, hence my becoming responsible for two kids at the age of eighteen.

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