Years ago tragedy struck the Calloway's causing the family to fall apart. Lucariah Augustine St. Francis Calloway was left in the ruins of it all with a mother who couldn't bother and a father who disappeared one night with his older brothers. For...
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"I can't believe you," Francesca grumbled to herself as we ducked into a copse of trees. "You're impossible. And reckless. And-"
"And you shouldn't know what those words mean," I cut in, huffing out cold air. A cloud of vapor coming out my mouth. "Aren't you like two?"
Her eyes narrowed, "aren't you like six?"
"Touché," I shrugged. Both of us sharing a wicked grin.
"I want to go home," she sighed when a particular gust of cold air blew on us. "Why are we here?!"
"You know why," I gritted out, "I've got connections. And apparently you do too."
She looked everywhere but at me, "I don't," She insisted. She's been insisting since I brought it up to her just a few hours ago.
I rolled my eyes at the repetitive statement, "okay, little miss throwing stars. Every child just randomly has a few in their pocket at any given time in the day."
"I don't have them now!"
"Liar," I sneered, pulling out four from my own pocket. She didn't even realize when I'd removed them from her.
Her wide brown eyes turned to saucers, her mouth dropping open, "give that back!"
I raised my hand over my head, fighting the urge to laugh at her struggle, "tell me how you know him." I demanded.
She struggled to reach for her weapons; standing on her tiptoes and stretching as far as her little arm could go.
I almost wanted to laugh at the sight.
That is until I noticed the tears pricking in her eyes. She dropped her arm in defeat, her face contorting in that of a cry.
"Wait! No. No. No. No," I lowered my arm so she could reach them, "I'm sorry Francis. Look, they're right here. You can have them back."
She looked at me warily, hesitantly reaching for my hand. She reached for them lightning fast, a smile on her face.
"Never," she gritted out, "ever. Touch my stars again." She stomped off within arms reach, but far enough to know she was mad.
I groaned to myself, wondering how Isobella would react if I'd done that to her. Would she cry real tears, or would she pull a trick like Francesca?
I don't mean to compare them. Francesca and Isobella are two very different children. But some part of me can't help but wonder about my little sister when I'm around anyone close in age to her.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I wonder. And I wonder some more. And I drive myself mad thinking about all the things she would have done in this situation. And any situation that have came or are to come.
Because I love her, and I just can't help it.
"Francis," I sighed, "I'm sorry. Really. I know, I know it was a dumb tri-"
