I was just about to fall asleep when someone knocked on my door.
“It’s Rafe—can I come in?”
I was immediately suspicious. Usually, Rafe doesn’t knock—he just barges right in.
“Okay,” I said, sitting up in bed.
“How did the band do?” He sat down on the edge of my bed.
“Rhonda sang. It was amazing,” I told him.
“I knew you guys would be good.”
“What?” I kicked him a little with my blanketed foot. “You think we stink!”
Rafe shrugged. “You don’t really stink that bad,” he admitted.
“I’m glad you made me go to the dance,” I said.
Rafe shrugged. “I didn’t make you.”
“Still. I wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for you. So…” I bit my lip. “Thanks.” Wow. I just said “thank you” to my brother. This night was definitely one for the record books.
Rafe looked down at my old quilt. He traced the pattern with his finger. “Listen, uh… maybe a brother and sister shouldn’t fight so much.”
“Are you talking about a specific brother and sister?” I asked.
Rafe rolled his eyes and then looked into my face. “Me and you,” he said.
“Well, it’s not my fault, Rafe.”
“I know.”
“Oh,” I said. “So—are you saying it’s your fault?”
“I’m saying we could both do a better job. I mean, what are we fighting about, anyway? It’s almost like it’s just a habit. It’s not like we hate each other. Right?”
Then I waited for him to say something sarcastic. I waited quite a while. “You have a point,” I said at last. “Maybe we even like each other,” I went on bravely. “I mean, sometimes.”
“Yeah.” Rafe nodded. “Good.” Then he stood up and walked out of my room.
Wow. That was unexpected.
I guess I’d finally worn him down, like a bar of soap.
