——Sam
Christie’s piercing stare was by far the longest in history that night. While I was busy preparing dinner, all she did was pout and nag about her slumber party on Saturday.
“I told you, Christie. If you want this slumber party so much, have the guts to call Mom and tell her yourself,” I told her for the millionth time already.
“If I tell her I want to spend the weekend at Stacey’s, she won’t say yes. She’s obviously not in the mood because of what happened to Aunt Anne,” she reasoned like a spoiled brat that she was.
“Exactly. She’s mourning the loss of her sister as we speak. And I really think we should too. I’m not even going to that stupid trip to Vegas,” I said as I chopped the last potato in the bowl.
“What do you mean a trip to Vegas?” she asked, her eyes flooded in sh
