Emily’s perspective:
Gabby stands on the far side of the coffee table in our room, arms crossed, and sulking. I try to figure out what words of comfort I can offer, but none come to me.
Finally, Gabby bursts out, “Why do you have to ruin everything?”
Taken aback by the comment, I keep from responding until she turns to look at me with frustrated eyes, tapping her foot. “Well, I’m waiting.”
I scrunch my brows and, perking my ear toward her, cross my arms. “Excuse me?”
“Answer me,” she says and points both of her hands back to herself.
“Who do you think you are, my mother?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Gabby snaps. “Never had a mother. Barely had a father. As for a sister?” she holds a hand out and looks me up and down, “Well.”
My eyes turn down to look over the object of her half-spoken insult, myself, and prod, “Well, what?”
She throws her hands up. “Why do you ruin everything?”
“It’s not my fault,” I say waving my hands back at myself.