Free The Little Brother by Victoria Patterson Page B

walked to the other side of the pool to a cooler of beer hidden behind a large planter.
    In retrospect we didn’t know what to say or how to cross that divide from our past into the present: The startling immediacy was too much. So we did what we had to do, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
    â€œI’m a Pisces,” Melissa said to me. Blond hair and tan body, red bathing suit, bikini ties visible under her white top. The kind of girl who used to be indifferent to me when I lived in Cucamonga. Half-reclined next to me on a chaise beside the pool. More like shouting over the rap music—“I’m a Pisces. Like, we’re the type of girls who support our men. We don’t need attention. Like, we’re vulnerable and kind, but strong. I guess I just, like, understand myself because of astrology. I have a strong sense of myself. It really makes sense if you study it. It’s true! Don’t laugh! It really works.”
    She was paying attention to me because of my dad’s money. Trying to hit on me. I’d overheard her earlier joking—“Maybe one of us will get pregnant by a Hyde and then we’ll be rich. I wouldn’t, like, mind living in this house.”
    Tove arrived in her brown work shirt and black slacks, and I heard her explaining that she hostessed at the Marie Callender’s restaurant in Cucamonga, “mostly guiding sweet old people with canes and walkers to their tables.” She looked the same, except that she’d highlighted her long brown hair with gold streaks, and she had a woman’s body now, not the beginnings of a woman’s body, like the last time I’d seen her, in the seventh grade. Holding a beer, talking with Gabe and Crystal, she favored one leg.
    â€œTove’s a good liar,” Melissa said, noticing me watching her, trying to keep my attention. “She’s a Gemini, and they’re the worst. That’s, like, the worst sign for a girl, because it means she’s manipulative and rude and stuck up.”
    The Tove I knew had not been any of those things. But I didn’t want to argue about astrological signs, so I encouraged Melissato return to the first subject—“Why do you say that she’s a good liar?” I held my hand up to pause her answer, shifted in my chaise, and shouted to Gabe, “Turn it down!”
    His head lifted in acknowledgment, and I watched him walk through the open sliding glass doors to the stereo inside the living room and turn the volume down.
    I resettled myself on the chaise and nodded for Melissa to proceed.
    â€œShe, like, pretends to be her mom on the phone”—she switched to an authoritative voice—“Hello, Mrs. Stroh, this is Tove’s mother. Hum, she, like, has my permission to sleep over tonight.”
    She paused, waiting for my encouragement.
    I gave her a smile and a laugh, wanting to hear more.
    â€œI can’t even do it,” she said. “But Tove, she’s, like, really scary-good at impersonating voices and stuff like that, like handwriting. She’s really good at making notes and signing parent signatures.” She paused and watched Tove and the others for a moment.
    The sun inched out from behind the patio umbrella, and I squinted at Melissa while readjusting myself on my chaise. Fully shaded again, I took a sip from my Budweiser.
    â€œShe lies all the time,” she said, still watching them, pensive. “This one time, she said she knew Eminem. Said they were good friends, told everyone. Lie! And this other time she said that she’s a model. Said that her parents told her not to tell anyone, but that her photographs are all over Europe and China. Lie!”
    She looked at me, her eyes widening as if in confidential warning. “If I were you, I’d stay away from her.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
    She shook her head. “It’s more than