I laughed. “You’re kidding right?”
She shook her head, her bottom lip pouting. “I’m serious. One of the girls at school is totally rocking this look. The boys are all over her.”
Yeah, probably because she’s giving them more than a weird hairdo.
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with the hairstyle . . . but I think you’re a bit young for that. Mum would freak out if she even thought you’d wanna do that to your hair.”
“That’s because Mum was Miss Teen Australia and she wants me to follow in her footsteps. I may look similar to what she did at my age, but beauty pageants and all that crap is the furthest thing from what I like.” she wailed. “You gotta help me. I don’t wanna be dragged into that shit.”
I clucked my tongue. “Language, young lady.” I couldn’t help admiring her sassiness though. Did all beautiful people have natural charm and charisma exude from them? It was as if the world sat up and took notice when my mother or any one of my stepfamily walked into a room. I found it amusing that most people thought Taylor was Mum’s daughter and I was the stepsister.
Maybe that was why I fitted in so well with my stepfamily—they were all stunning, like my mother, and I wasn’t any competition for them. I was happy for Taylor to take the limelight and she reveled in it.
As for me, I was a geeky nerd. Plain Jane and happy to be so. The only thing I’d strived for when I was Taylor’s age was the highest grades in school so I could win a scholarship. I’d inherited my Dad’s average Joe looks and was the simple girl-next-door type with a nondescript face. I didn’t mind though—it meant I blended in just perfectly without most people noticing me. Just the way I liked it.
“Neither shit nor crap are swear words, they’re bodily functions and therefore perfectly fine words.”
I wasn’t even getting into that discussion with her. She definitely didn’t want the nice-girls-don’t-talk-like-that speech. Besides, I didn’t mind using expletive language myself sometimes. I didn’t really trust people who were too perfect, and especially people who never swore. It was like they had a bunch of carrots stuck up their ass.
She gave me that puppy dog face that melted my heart. I really did adore her and was ecstatic when my mother married her father so that I could have a real family.
“Honey, why would you want to change your hair? It's so damn pretty.” I tilted my head to the side as I studied her. ”Be grateful for what you have instead of wanting to turn yourself into a freak show.”
“Ha-ha, you’re always so wise. I'm so lucky I got you as my older sis.” Her eyes darkened as she shuddered. “One of the women Daddy dated before he met Mum had the most nasty daughter I’d ever met.”
“Nastiest,” I corrected her automatically.
“Whatever,” she said, laughing. She looked up at me and squinted her eyes. “Hang on a minute . . . if I can't change my look and you love my hair—”
“Whoa, stop right there, missy. I’m very happy with the way I look. Physiotherapists don’t have time to be all pretty and precious. My hair tied into a ponytail is practical and works just fine for me.”
“Awww, don’t say that.” Her attention back to the magazine, she flicked a few pages back. “In fact when I saw this picture of Emma Stone earlier I thought how much she reminded me of you. Now if you colored your hair just a little bit . . . I not talking anything drastic, just to brighten up the tone, you’d look stunning.”
“Hmmm . . . The only thing Emma and I had in common were freckles and since hers are now invisible, we have nothing in common.” I took a deep breath. “And I thought you said you weren’t into beauty stuff like Mum? I think you have a natural eye for that shit, but no, I’m not coloring my hair. Why would I anyway? I don’t want anyone looking at me.”
“You said shit!” she said raising an eyebrow at me, trying to look stern and failing.
“Yeah, but I’m twenty-one. I'm an adult, so I can say whatever I like.”
“Your birthday was like three weeks ago, and you don’t look any different than before, so how is that fair?”
“I don’t make the rules. But anyway, you get a lot more out of life with honey than with vinegar, so try to stay sweet instead of becoming a foul mouthed bitch like some of the tarts in class.”
A deep baritone voice from the doorway interrupted us and made my heart smile just from hearing it. “Who’s a foul mouthed bitch?”
I turned to face my stepbrother. God, he sure got hit by the pretty stick. If his little sister grew up to be anything as gorgeous as him, our parents were going to have to buy a few riffle guns to keep the boys away.