My Sister Loves My School's Heartthrob Boyfriend

Emma showed up in a sleek white dress, her makeup on point, giving me a look that screamed discomfort.

She didn't wait for me to start talking, she took the lead, dripping with sarcasm.

"Sarah, bragging about that fancy, high-paying job to everyone, and here you are, waiting tables? Mom's heart would break if she knew."

I almost laughed out loud watching Emma put on her act.

Her dress alone costs a cool $6,000, while I make a measly $2,500 a month.

Did I ever really choose this job?

The classmates around us seemed to get the picture quickly.

"Looks like our genius is moonlighting her way through college."

"She's chosen quite the unconventional way to experience life, huh?"

I nodded, "Go ahead and eat, I gotta run."

But Sam caught up with me, his brow furrowed, "Why the cold shoulder toward me?"

He had bombarded me with messages the day before, none of which I answered.

Recalling that kiss with Emma by the gate, I shrugged off his hand.

"I'm on the clock, Sam. No time for chats."

Home was a whole other kind of storm.

There was my sister, theatrically sobbing on the couch, playing the victim to Mom.

"Why does Sarah have to work where I hang out with my friends? She's clearly doing it to embarrass me and make us look bad."

Mom was all comfort and cuddles with her, all fire and brimstone at me.

After a long day of waiting tables, I was too wiped to argue.

I retreated to my room, closed the door, and blocked out their bickering.

Lying on my bed, I mustered up some self-encouragement, "Hang in there, Sarah. You're almost out of here."

Then the exam results came out.

Emma scored 1360, and our parents celebrated as she had just landed on the moon.

I was, as usual, an afterthought.

The only notification on my phone was from Sam: [I'm downstairs, waiting for you.]

Looking out the window, I saw Sam leaning against a sycamore tree, wearing his casual white tee, stirring up a cocktail of emotions inside me.

Feeling my gaze, he looked up and smiled. That warmth in his smile thawed some of the chills in the air.

I had sworn off dealing with Sam, but at that moment, something inside me snapped.

I bolted downstairs, ready to confront him about his silence to my confession—even rejection would sting less.

What was he really up to with Emma?

Steeling my resolve, I blurted out, "Sam, about that note I left in your book—"

But I was cut off by a familiar, intrusive voice.

"Sam! What are you doing here? Looking for me?"

Emma had escaped our parents' clutches and blocked my view, positioning herself right in front of Sam.

From afar, Mom's voice sliced through the air.

"Sarah, is the laundry done yet? Get back home now!"

Under Mom's watchful eye, I backed up and turned, heading upstairs.

As I walked away, Sam's eyes followed me, deep and probing.

But soon enough, Emma redirected his attention.