Page 4 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
The muffled sound of music filters from the apartment when I reach it, telling me Glory has the day off from her new summer job. Our mother would never listen to music this loud on her own. Not anymore. I try the knob, but it’s locked, so I take out my key and let myself in.
The living room and kitchen are empty, and I grab a glass of water from the fridge dispenser before heading to my bedroom. The bathroom door is shut, and the shower is running, so my mom is definitely awake. Hopefully, this means she’s feeling well today.
The music is much louder as I stand outside my bedroom door. I don’t know how we haven’t gotten a call from the neighbors yet. They must be out for the day.
“Glory, I’m comin’ in,” I call out, announcing my arrival with a knock.
Except for the few years when I’d moved out, I’ve shared this room with Glory since she was a baby. Now that she’s fifteen, though, she’s asked that I respect her privacy and knock before entering. Because I’m a considerate big sister, I do, but she doesn’t seem to think she should afford me the same courtesy. Not that it matters, I guess. The only thing I do in here is sleep.
When a minute passes with no answer—she probably can’t hear me over the music—I repeat myself, louder this time, and push the door open.
“No! Wait!” Glory shouts, but it’s too late.
I’m already stepping into the bedroom and watching her stuff something into our small closet. She slams the door shut and whirls around to face me, forcing a sweet smile onto her flushed face.
I arch a brow and look her over, then flick my eyes to the closet door.
“What are you hiding?”
“I saidwait! You never listen.Ugh, I want my own room again!”
My sister stomps her foot and hits me with a glare, the sweet smile wiped away in half a blink. It’s the look I’m used to getting from her these days. My fifteen-year-old sister thinks I moved back home just to ruin her life.
“Glory, what are you hiding in that closet?”
“Nothing.”
I walk to her cheap Bluetooth speaker and turn it off, finally silencing her pop-punk racket, then cross the distance and stand in front of her with my hands on my hips.
“Is it Aleck? You know you’re not allowed to have boys in here.”
Glory rolls her eyes. “I’m not hiding Aleck in my closet.”
She talks like the accusation is outlandish when I literally found him hiding under the bed two weeks ago.
“Open the door, Glory.”
“No.”
I raise my voice and direct it at the closet door. “Aleck, come out here right now or I’m calling your dad.”
Glory snorts. “I told you it’s not Aleck?—”
A dog barks, cutting off her statement, and Glory’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates.
“What was that?” I ask, even though I’m not an idiot.
“Nothing.”
“Was that a dog?”
She shakes her head rapidly. “No. Nope.”
I push past her and yank the door open myself, and sure as shit, there’s a dog in my closet. A medium-sized black dog with long, shaggy fur hanging in his eyes. He’s sitting and wagging his tail happily, looking as innocent as can be, but there’s a chewed-up sneaker at his feet that gives him away.Mysneaker.
“What the fuck, Glory Bell. Why the hell is there a dog in our closet?”
I flick my eyes from Glory to the dog and back. She folds her arms over her chest.
