The Little Sister by Erin Halfelven

Chapter 1

Carmody Jackson sat at the kitchenette table in the little apartment he shared with Ryan Poole. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “College wasn’t supposed to be just like high school.”

“Huh?” said Ryan, distracted by a game on the tablet computer in his hand.

Carmody amplified his complaint. “I mean, I’m clean, straight, sober. I’m not bad-looking. Why does every girl I ask for a date turn me down?”

“Eh,” Ryan grunted. He tapped a few spots on the screen, and a scrap of tinkly music rewarded him. “Maybe you’re too good-looking,” he suggested with a smarmy grin.

“Not this again,” Carmody whined, aware that his voice had climbed at least a musical fifth. He hated that he so easily slipped into sounding like a middle schooler when he felt frustrated.

Ryan shrugged, still absorbed in his game. “I’m just saying, you look so much like your big sister, Andi, that if you promised to wear a dress, I would date you.”

Carmody snorted as emphatically as he could manage. It was an old joke and didn’t improve with the vintage. Ryan had been saying such things since they were back in high school. “I ought to take you up on that one of these days.”

Ryan looked up and grinned. “Any time,” he smirked. “Dinner and dancing at the Rotunda? Eh? Sound good?” He named the rotating restaurant atop the spire at the airport the most expensive place in town.

“You know I don’t dance,” his friend protested.

Which apparently struck Ryan as funny for some reason Carmody failed to comprehend. “It’s cause you’re so short; the girls are all taller than you. But if you date me, you can be the one wearing high heels.” He laughed again, waggling his bushy black eyebrows.

Carmody ignored the banter to continue his complaints. “That’s just it! If I were a cute girl, I’d have no trouble finding a date, and I wouldn’t even have to do the asking!”

“And if you were a cute girl, I’d pull you into my lap and kiss away those pretty tears,” said Ryan, not looking up, having gone back to his game on the tablet. “Instead your just a pretty boy who looks like his big sister but stays home complaining about being alone on Saturday night.”

“Argh!” Carmody mentioned, getting up from the table and leaving the room.

“Shall I make those reservations?” Ryan called after him. “Dinner at eight, dancing till one?”

Carmody didn’t answer, his steps moving faster as he rushed to get away from the teasing. He was lucky to have Ryan as a roommate since the man came from a wealthy family and could afford ⅔ of the rent on a very nice apartment. The arrangement involved Carmody doing most of the cooking and nearly all of the housework, but that was okay, too.

Carmody was on a scholarship to the School of Catering and Hospitality at the college, or he couldn’t even afford a third of the rent on the upscale apartment only six blocks from the college. It worked for both of them. So the joke was that Ryan and he often ended up eating Carmody’s homework.

But right now, Carmody did not feel fortunate to know Ryan, let alone to live with the tall, dark, man that he had known since his parents had moved to the small West Texas town where he and his sister had finished growing up. In fact, he was working on being angry at Ryan, or as angry as the mild-mannered boy ever got.

Once in his room, he threw himself acoss his bed, seized a pillow to squeeze to his face and then hold at arm’s length where he could punch it, repeatedly. As hard as he could. The pillow took little notice. “Poo,” said Carmody.

After a minute or two, Carmody stretched to reach his phone in the charging cradle on the half-size chest of drawers by his bed. A couple of quick taps, and he had called his sister. Would she even be at home on a Saturday afternoon? But he heard her voice after only four rings, “Lonely Spinster Quilting and Fudge Society,” she said smoothly, followed by background laughter.

“Huh?” said Carmody.

“Oh, it’s you,” she replied. “What’s he done now?”

“Who he? You mean Ryan?” Carmody stalled.

“Who else annoys you enough to call your big sister on a Saturday? Hey, why don’t you come over?”

“You live in a sorority, sis. I don’t think your friends would appreciate me being there. Is it even allowed?” he asked.

“Sure,” she answered easily. “Hey, it’s my brother,” she spoke to someone else on the other end.

“We’re making fudge,” someone called out.

“Yeah, Carma, c’mon over and show us how to make fudge.” Carmody hated the family nickname and now Andi had spread it all over campus, he couldn’t escape. He sighed. Calling Sis as a way to cheer himself up wasn’t working.

“So, what did Ryan do this time? Mess up your hair and tickle you silly again?”

“Uh, no,” Carmody hedged. That had been really embarrassing, and he blushed at the memory, even squeezing his thighs together, remembering the mad dash for a restroom

“Spill,” Andi commanded. “I know you’re pouting about something.”

“I am not pouting!” he protested. He twisted around on the bed to where he could rest his sock feet on the wall above the headboard. This pose always drove his mother crazy when he was at home, but this was his room, and Mom was 170 miles away.

Andie snickered. “He asked you for a date again, didn’t he?”

“I… He…” Carmody stammered. “He always sounds as if he means it!”

“He’s been asking you since you were both freshmen in high school. I think he’s serious.”

Carmody got quiet. Andi waited him out. Carmody couldn’t see, but she had left the dining room at her sorority, where six other girls were making fudge and a real mess.

“Do think he’s gay?” Her brother finally asked in a small voice. “Or does he think I am?”

“He thinks you’re cute,” Andi answered.

“Argh!” Carmody made a noise like an angry bunny.

“Look,” Andi continued. “Come on over here, help us make fudge and we’ll take you out to dinner. None of us have dates tonight, and we were going to try drowning in chocolate. But I know you can make better candy than we can so get your cute buns out of the apartment. We’re only four blocks away, you can be here in five minutes.”

“Really?” Carmody wondered if even Andi were serious. “Where are we going to go eat, so I know what to wear?”

Andi sighed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll probably go to Del Formaggio for a three cheese pie, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally agreed. Del Formaggio actually made decent pizza, one of the few places in town that could outdo him in their own style. In fact, he wanted to watch Domenico stretch his dough again. He didn’t do it by tossing it but by pulling it on a table, and Carmody had yet to figure out how that produced such crisp but tender crust.

“Be there soon,” he told he phone but the noise and info on the screen told him she had already hung up.

Notes

Image: Photo 80898 / Girl © Emil Pozar | Dreamstime.com