Free The Zodiac Collector by Laura Diamond

work…all of it.”
    She clears her throat. “You need to chill out.”
    â€œ I need to chill out?” I point to my chest, eyes bugging out of my head. “You’re one to talk, Miss Everything-Gives-Me-a-Panic-Attack.”
    Her leg bounces up and down like a seismometer pounding out the quaking in her brain. “I’m not trying to fight with you.” Pain tightens the angles of her face, pinches her mouth, and hoods her eyes. The aftershocks radiate out to me and my anger crumbles from a slab of granite to pebbles and dust.
    I sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
    â€œWhy do you get mad all the time?”
    â€œI’m not mad all the time.”
    â€œYes, you are. Sometimes you act like Mom.”
    â€œThat’s so unfair! At least I’m not a coward. You want a birthday party as much as I do, but I’m the one who has to do something about it.” I pick at her, unable to leave alone the festering pimple that is our oozing, infected relationship.
    â€œNot wanting to make Mom mad doesn’t make me a coward. Sometimes I think you enjoy it when she’s angry.”
    â€œYou calling me a chaos boss?”
    â€œNo, I’m calling you a drama llama.” She snatches the empty bowl from the dogs and heads inside, fleeing like a jackrabbit running from a coyote.
    â€œHey, we’re not done.” I follow her straight to the kitchen.
    She scrubs her bowl with a hypoallergenic sponge. “I don’t have anything else to say.”
    â€œYou didn’t want the spell to work.”
    She smacks the bowl on the drying rack and goes at her spoon, rubbing it so hard sparks might start flying. “You’re not saying what happened was my fault, are you? Because it’s not. You don’t know what you’re doing. Grandmother said you shouldn’t even—”
    â€œI know what she said.” Heat flares into my cheeks and I fist my hands. The pinch from my fingernails digging into my palms shocks me almost as much as her accusation.
    It’s so unfair. I’m not an idiot. And I’m not like Mom. I just get mad sometimes. Doesn’t mean I’m crazy.
    I head to the shower to cool off. As I lather my hair, I vow to myself to learn how to chant properly. Then I’ll show Mary that it works and I can do it. With any luck, I’ll figure it out before our birthday and we can still have an awesome party.
    Forty-five minutes later, I’m finishing straightening my hair. Mary’s sitting on her bed studying, as usual.
    She stays quiet. And she will as long as she has nothing to say.
    Mary and I fight like tectonic plates sliding over and under one another. We have to be together all the time, but sometimes the pressure builds up and we blow, causing an earthquake. After, everything settles down again. It bothers me—a lot.
    I can’t stand the silence any longer.
    â€œI’m going to check out the jousting arena. Maybe William needs help setting up or something.” If I act like nothing’s wrong, maybe Mary will, too. I pull my flat-ironed hair into a ponytail, praying it stays somewhat smooth. I have to use six different products to get it to stay straight. Maybe I should embrace the natural curls, like Mary. Somehow, she makes them look good and I just look scruffy. I don’t know how that’s possible, since we’re identical twins, but it’s true.
    â€œYou guys should just admit that you like each other already.” I catch her playful smirk in the mirror. Maybe some of the built-up pressure between us is blowing off.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just friends.” I whirl, elated she’s not giving me the silent treatment anymore. I slip into my favorite silver ballet flats and smooth my green-striped polo shirt, a strategic choice on my part. William had commented on Mom’s green dress bringing out the color in my eyes, after all.
    â€œYou are