your best american girl ✓

05 | don't wanna die young

"So," Hunter says, clearing his throat as we navigate our way to his front door. Since the last time I've been here, they've trimmed the two bushes out in the front so they're perfect spheres. Not only that but the lawn is mowed evenly too. "Just as a warning, don't be too alarmed when you meet my younger sister. She's—well, you'll see how she is."

Great. Another monster to worry about. Tightening the grip on my coffee cup that he bought me, I simply shrug. If I can deal with his mom, I'm convinced that I can put up with anything. Then again, the whole damn family together might just be the death of me.

The lukewarm late-autumn breeze swirls the falling foliage down the bare trees.

Digging into his coat pocket, he fishes out his keys, twisting them into the lock. Nothing happens.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, "forgot they changed the locks recently." Groaning, he inspects every key in his collection, trying to find the correct one.

I raise an eyebrow, interest piqued.

Changed the locks? Isn't that something families with missing members usually never do because they're holding onto the possibility that the person gone would come back?

I shouldn't judge so quickly. People cope in different ways. Besides, it's totally normal to do so if the house is in danger of being broken into. There could be extraneous circumstances that have happened since I'm not taking into account.

When he does find the right one, he opens the grey door, gesturing for me to enter.

Almost immediately, I'm greeted by a hushed hum coming from the television and the smell of lavender mixed with bleach. Like the greenery outside, the various decor seems to have changed. There are more vases of stargazer lilies set out, the pink a stark contrast from the mostly white modern chic furniture. Peeking out behind the couch are two heads of hair, both a flaxen color and they turn around once they hear the door creak shut.

"Hey..." Hunter's mom trails off, tugging her silk robe closer to her body, smile dropping when she sees me next to him, "it's you again."

In her defense, that's a more polite greeting than I was expecting. Then again, I've been so desensitized to the crude undertone to her words, especially since the disdain is definitely mutual. Still, she makes it hard for me to stay civil, and that's saying a lot for me, considering I have a lot of self-restraint.

The girl next to her continues to suck on the lollipop in her hand, a poorly repressed giggle escaping her throat. To face us, she folds her hands over the back of the sofa, sitting on her knees, shamelessly studying me as if I am a form of entertainment. So this is the sister. Although they're all related, she doesn't really look anything like her mother or brother. Her hair is a darker blond, with the ends dyed a blush color. In terms of facial features, her nose is slightly wider, her eyes are muddier, and her mouth is fuller. She looks 13, or 15 tops, which is strange because I know for a fact she doesn't go to St. Addams.

"Halle," she introduces herself, batting her curled eyelashes, teeth crunching into her lolly. Her glitter eyeshadow catches in the warm sunbeams. "Hunter's favorite sister."

"Currently, you're my only sister," Hunter retorts quietly, earning a glare from his mother, who has been silently observing the exchange, likely ready to pounce once I slip up. Praying on my downfall, I see.

"Meaning I'm your favorite by default," Halle drawls, a devilish smile playing on her lips.

Awkwardly, I shift on my feet. I'm aware I'm the center of attention right now, however, it still feels like I'm intruding on a family gathering. I'm not going anywhere, though, so I might well get on her good side.