It’s impossible for her not to see me. I am wearing an oversized orange tee with bright pink diagonal stripes, a pair of turquoise leggings, and fuzzy hunter-green socks. In jeans and a faded brown tee, my sister sits cross-legged in the middle of her white comforter. She has a yellow legal pad balanced on one knee. Sunshine streams through the window, setting the burnt-orange and sienna tones in her thick curls on fire. I can’t wait forever. “Sam?” “Read the sign, Jorgianna,” she says, not looking up. “Your door was open.” “Read the sign.” My sister likes to whine that I am, “always bugging her,” which is not true. First, “always” is an absolute, so you should not say “always” unless there isn’t even a sliver of a chance you could be wrong (same goes for “never”). Second, I have proof. I did a few calculations and found Sammi spends approximately 94 percent of her time doing things that don’t—repeat, do not—involve me, like sleeping, showering, going to school, studying, etc.
