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PEPPER
Age 15
“Give it back!”
I looked at my little sister, Sage—twelve going on thirty-two—and shook my head. “No, it’s mine.”
“It’s yours, but I want to use it, you fat fucking heifer!” Sage screeched.
Sage had started her period four days ago.
Sage, from then on, had made everyone’s life a living hell.
It was like some switch had flipped.
One day she was a nice kid, and the next she was this… monster.
“I am not giving you my toothbrush,” I said. “If I give it to you, I won’t have one.”
“You don’t need one.” She rolled her eyes.
Then, before I could protect myself, she launched herself at me.
Here was the thing about Sage.
She was bigger than me.
By a couple of inches.
I was a late bloomer, according to my mother.
I still looked like I was twelve, not fifteen.
I was told by the doctor that sometimes things happened this way.
And instead of dwelling on the fact that my sister looked more womanly than me at twelve than I did at fifteen, I just rolled with it.
What I didn’t expect was for her to use the height and weight she had on me to her advantage in beating the ever-loving shit out of me.
I curled into a ball, unable to protect myself from her anger.
And only after her shrieks and my cries for help were answered by my father and brothers, did I finally realize that the old sister, the nice sister—the sister I used to have—was officially gone.
I would never forgive her.
Never.
And I had a scar across the bridge of my nose, from eye to eye, where she’d clawed me with her fingernails to remind me.
Age 17
“What happened?” my mother asked the moment she got to the school.
I was so angry I could cry.
“Well, do you want to know the truth, or would you like to know the lies Sage is passing around school?” I asked through gritted teeth.
Emmanuele and Gladys Solomon had four children. Two boys and two girls.
