Free The Tori Trilogy by Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén Page B

Gina. Emily’s in Ms. O’Malley’s class, so that’s why you didn’t see her this morning.”
    They both give the new girl friendly welcomes.
    Anastasia looks from one to the other of them. She studies them, the same way she studied Shannon and me. I watch her as she scans Emily’s shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, and embroidered hoodie. Then she moves on to Gina, taking a much longer time.
    Finally, Shannon breaks the silence. “Anastasia,” she says, “I’ll bet you didn’t know that Gina and Tori are cousins.”
    Anastasia’s eyebrows rise. “Cousins?” She actually seems interested for once. She looks at me, then at Gina. I can feel her eyes boring holes into us.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “My dad and her mom are brother and sister.”
    â€œHmmm.” Anastasia tries a tiny bite of lasagna, makes a face, and lays her fork down at the edge of her Styrofoam plate. “I’ll have to say, you two really don’t look that much alike.”
    â€œWe’re both half-Peruvian,” explains Gina, “but my dad is Puerto-Rican and Tori’s mom is white. That’s why I’m a lot darker than she is.”
    Anastasia’s mouth gapes for a moment. When she finally remembers to close it, she reaches for a napkin and dabs at her lips with it. Then she spreads it out over her lap, slowly and carefully, the way you would smooth a tablecloth into place for a fancy dinner. She doesn’t say a word.
    What’s this all about? I wonder. I pick up my black-at-the-edges garlic bread and take a crunchy bite. To my surprise, it doesn’t taste like anything at all, good or bad. I must be too busy thinking. Something about Anastasia Adams bothers me, and it’s more than just her rudeness.
    After dinner that night, I sit at the kitchen table, doing my homework...or at least trying to. My thoughts keep going back to Anastasia. Her expensive clothes. The “speech” she gave our class. The way she acted all throughout lunch. I wiggle in my chair, chewing at the eraser end of my purple pencil. As hard as I try, I just can’t concentrate on my math worksheet.
    Nate wheels around the corner into the kitchen. He flicks on the light above the counter and starts rummaging through the cupboards for an after-dinner snack. Pulling out a box of cookies, he pops it open, tears into the packaging, and turns around, noticing me at the table.
    Nate’s twenty and a sophomore at Glenmore Community College, a few towns over. When he’s not in class, he’s either cramming for exams, working at the college bookstore, playing video games on his Xbox, or hanging out with his friends, working on their cars. He’s going through a phase right now in which he is the absolute best at everything he does. You know, all his teachers think he’s smart, his employers sing his praises, his friends don’t want anyone but Nate fixing their cars, the girls fall at his feet. Everything he touches turns into gold...according to Nate.
    But...there’s a softer side to him, if you peel away the cockiness. I’ve been learning to look beneath the surface when it comes to my brothers. Sometimes they surprise me. As I said, there’s a chance they might be human.
    Now Nate pours himself a glass of chocolate milk and carries it to the table, along with the box of cookies. He drops into the chair across from me. “You want some?” He pushes the box in my direction.
    â€œThanks.” I take a few cookies and start nibbling slowly.
    â€œWhat are you working on?” my brother asks.
    â€œMath. Fractions and decimals.” I make a face. “I am so bad at this stuff.”
    â€œYou want some help?”
    â€œSure,” I say, surprised by the offer. See what I mean?
    â€œI’ve always been killer at math,” Nate goes on.
    Maybe I spoke too soon. Just the same, I’m grateful that he gets up and crosses