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She chases me and grabs it out of my hand. She clutches it to her chest. “You’re safe now.”

“I don’t want to alarm you, but it can’t hear you.”

She takes it and pretends to swat me with it. “You’re the worst.”

“But you love me,” I say, framing my face with my hands.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like you,” she says, pouting as she looks longingly at her bed.

I take her hand, lead her to her vanity, and sit her down in front of the mirror. “What do you want me to do to your hair today?”

“Whatever you think looks best.”

As I run the brush through it, my heart aches a little. I miss my long hair. Mine is short and choppy, just below my chin. It also grew back wiry. Annie’s, on the other hand, is silky smooth and jaw-droppingly gorgeous—probably because she never uses heat on it. That’s why it physically pains me to see her just throw it up in a messy bun every morning. I want her to show it off. I love trying all sorts of styles on it, and I know she secretly likes it too. Otherwise, she’d argue more.

“I’m thinking two Dutch braids.”

She shrugs. “You’re the boss.”

I get to work, parting her hair down the middle. Then, I twist her hair and weave it into the thickest Dutch braids ever.

Annie smiles at her reflection. “It’s cute.”

That’s Annie’s version of saying she loves it. She doesn’t show much emotion, but having her acknowledge it alone is a win.

I hug her around the shoulders. “Don’t you dare take it out after first period.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Because if you leave it in, you’ll have pretty curls tomorrow if you sleep in them.”

She smirks. “So what you’re saying is, I won’t have to get up early tomorrow if I leave it in?”

I nod.

“Done,” she says.

I grab two pairs of earrings and hold one of each pair up to my face. One is a giant red cherry that hangs low and the other is a clay orange with white flowers and green leaves. “Which one do you like better?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m not wearing either.”

“For me. Not you.”

“Oh good. I was going to say, fruit earrings are kind of your thing. I respect it, but I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them.”

How could anyone not like these earrings? They’re so cute. “Excuse you. That would be an honor.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“So imagine you’re me—someone who likes fruit earrings. Which ones would you choose?”

She squints, turning her head to study them. “If I absolutely had to and there were no other options, I’d choose the cherries.”

“Thank you. Was that so hard?”