My little sister has always been an interesting one. She was adopted at the age of ten (I was twelve), old enough to know right away that she was from another family.
I don’t like calling her my stepsister because, well, she’s family now. However, she doesn’t seem to share that feeling. She’ll go out of her way to remind me we aren’t blood-related.
At first, I thought this was about her not feeling accepted, like she wasn’t part of the family. So, I did my best to get close to her, to help her feel welcome in our home.
But as she got older, she kept reminding me we had no blood relation. Honestly, I’m not sure how to convince her I care about her.
She’s a sweet girl, most of the time. Besides me, she really doesn’t care for anything male. This has escalated to the point of her being labelled a prude at school. She doesn’t care about that, though. Maybe she’s a lesbian? I should probably ask her that.
Her eighteenth birthday is today, and she’s having some friends over after school. If that’s the way she swings, I’m not going to interfere. But it would still be nice to know for sure. Maybe I should keep an eye on her.
*One Hour Later*
“Max, I’m home!” Mel called up the stairs the moment she entered the house. She knew I would be in my room, lifting weights at this time of day.
I chuckled to myself and set my dumbbells back on their stand. You’d think I would start my workout earlier since I was aware of that little habit.
I grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off and then headed downstairs. The towel was wrapped around my neck by the time I reached the bottom step.
“I just need to take a shower before your friends arrive,” I said the moment I found her in the kitchen.
A few giggles erupted from behind Mel.
“Oh, they’re already here,” I said, taking in the three blondes with the exact same taste in clothing as Mel. Actually, from behind, I might even confuse them with my sister.
“Oh, this is your brother, eh?” One of them said as she moved to my right. She was definitely cute.
“Max, meet Sam,” Mel said, waving a hand to the girl who’d spoken. “And that’s Paige and Clara.” I took note of the colour of their outfits, the simplest means of telling these clones apart.
“Nice to meet you all,” I said, then…
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