My Very Bestest Mer-Friend.

"Magic."

"It's still a stupid-ass name for some no-face."

Thin and well-manicured hands pry open a lock that allows them access to the large establishment.

It's the back of the stage where tonight's concert will be held.

At first glance, it looks normal enough. Props, some equipment, a stack of water bottles still in their packaging in a corner, and many miscellaneous items. But, if you look towards the couch presses against the wall, you see a few items I don't think you'd usually find there.

Some gold necklaces spread out, a notepad with numerous little reminders in a language that no human speaks, and a broken gold stands for the cracked crystal ball on the desk.

A voice from the front of the stage says "Language! That's another dollar in the swear jar!"

She mumbled out, " . . . gonna go broke here. Damn, swear jar. Why do we even have that useless thing."

"Two dollars now Drista!"

"I'll pay up later, Bad."

"Jeez, why do you want to work here if all you do is complain about decisions that I make?" I reminded her that it was HER choice to come work here, even though she acts like I'm forcing her.

"Because the only things you decide are things like wages and paint jobs and stuff! I'm here to make sure that all the stuff that actually needs to be taken care of gets done! You need to be working on the more important shit, big bro!"

"Oh yeah? And what exactly are those things that you look over? Vending machine stock? Personal employee well-being?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

"What I do is above your pay grade!"

"I'm literally his manager! Your just some assistant we have to carry in all the heavy shit!"

"Still! The manager's sister carries more weight than the manager himself!"

"No, she doesn't!"

A new voice pipes up from the half-opened oak door at a wall opposite to them. "Both of you shut up! I need to prep my voice for the show, and you're throwing off my focus!"

"Ugh. We are not done here, Clay. I swear, I will make you see the light if it's the last thing I do!"

Drista ran off, probably to go chat with someone about their love lives, and I laugh to myself.

She may be one of the most insanely chaotic people I've ever met, but she's still my sister, and I love her. Even if she does piss me off, steal my stuff, criticize me, and tell my boyfriend embarrassing stories from elementary.

Hmm? Wouldn't I hate her?

I probably should, seeing as she nearly exposed my outlet for creativity, and how she got our parents to ignore me, but George told me that I should try getting closer to her again. Something about forgiveness is a very powerful advantage in life, I don't know, he was playing with my hair at the time, plus it was like 5 in the morning, so I was half-dead. Did he expect me to take that to heart?

Apparently so.

And apparently, I decided that he was right, because, during the next few weeks, I stopped brushing her off, and tried talking to her like normal. You know, about things like pets and family, instead of jail time and bail like we usually did when I came to get her out of the holding cell the police had reserved for her every Sunday.

Stealing, shoplifting, trespassing, Jesus knows what went through her head, but after she got over that little troublemaking phase, she filled me in on what happened after I left home.