LITMIR.BIZ

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a white lie. It lets me off explaining the real reason.

      I say I did it to bring attention to Global Warming – you know, when it gets really hot hair is going to be a huge hassle. Then laugh it off as that’s more Caitlin’s thing – when she’s well enough. Truth is, I add, it’s a Hollywood thing. I figured I’d get more movie offers that way. It worked for Bruce Willis.

      My two best friends are Jay and Ethan. Jay and I have been friends since babyhood and Ethan since primary school. Jay says our mums were so close they used to swap nappies. Sometimes, I wake up in the night thinking about that.

      Jay is small, like me, half-Korean, fierce, and one month older than me, which in Korea means Jay is my ‘senior’. Whatever. Ethan’s the opposite. He’s tall, spotty, and his ears stick out like an elephant’s. When he was eight his parents got divorced. The school counsellor said that’s when he ‘lost all his confidence’. When we were kids, the three of us would go looking for it. Ethan loses everything.

      Did I mention I’ve got a sister? Well, Caitlin is taller than me, older than me, and, according to her best friend, has triple my quotient of brain cells in her little finger. I’m still trying to work that one out a week after she said it. She’s super pale, like, vampire-pale, has short vampire-black hair, smudgy vampire eyes that are really close together, unhealthily close if you ask me, and she’s so clumsy she makes Mr Bean look like a ballerina.

      Annoyingly, Caitlin gets out of all the chores, because she’s always tired. (Tired of doing the chores, if you ask me.) And her favourite hobby? Stabbing people in the back. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m not supposed to like my sister, right? It’s called sibling rivalry.

      Dad says Caitlin is sixteen going on sixty, so with any luck she’ll retire soon.

      Caitlin and I have ‘a difficult relationship’. Mum says I should talk about it (groan). Lots of people have difficult relationships! Wolves and sheep have difficult relationships. Brutus and Julius Caesar had one. Did they talk about it? Nope.

      Mum, who never gives up, says we should at least try to see eye to eye. Caitlin’s best friend says I’m too short. Ouch. I pretend my feelings are hurt but does anyone notice? As if.

      Caitlin is into (yawn) animal rights, human rights, whale rights, Amazon rights (the forest, not the book company) and just about any other rights you’ve never heard of. (She’s always trying to save something except her breath.) If there’s a mass rally of students (in school time, of course), you will see Caitlin waving her Science Not Silence placard.

      Although I’m not into student political rallies, I chanted ‘Hey ho, hey ho, fossil fuels they have to go’ with Caitlin so she could get the rhythm right. I also painted chunks of coal and other environmental disasters like coral reef oil spills and deforestation on signs for her fellow agitators.

      Caitlin’s eyes narrowed when she saw how much effort I’d put in. Why is it that when you do something nice for someone they suspect there’s an ulterior motive?

      Caitlin is also into science – she’s invented the coolest virtso PlayStation – maths (double yawn), archery and K-pop. Mum says ‘See, you two do have something in common after all!’ (What? She’s great at shooting arrows and I’m great at dodging them? That’s a relationship?)

      I just roll my eyes. Really, what can you do with mums? You can’t fire them from their job, and you can’t show them to your friends.

      ‘Mum,’ I say, for the umpteenth time, ‘just because I’m into “Korean karate” (her terminology not mine) and she’s into Korean pop music doesn’t give us something in common. The only thing we ever had in common was acne.’

      So enough family background. Uh, wait a sec. What did I forget? Oh, yeah! My mum’s a vet. She specialises in dogs and we have a really smelly Dog-Hospital out back. Which could be why all the neighbours are forever knocking on our door.

      And Dad? Um, I’m not sure what Dad does. I guess he just does boring Dad stuff. He gets paid heaps for it though. I think he’s a spy, because he never talks about work. His favourite one-liner when people ask him what he does is, ‘If I tell you that, I’d have to kill you’. It didn’t go down too well at school though when the new principal asked him his occupation.

      Okay, I know what you’re thinking. How come I turned out like this?

      I mean, with a sister you can’t trust (think Jack and Atlas in Bioshock), a dad who works for the Secret Service (for all I know), and a mum who tries to help homeless dogs fall in love (yep, she thinks she’s the Dr Phil of Dogdom) – how on earth did I turn out so normal?

      Pure and simple. It’s not a mystery. I put it down to strength of character, steely-eyed determination, and shampoo. See, since I was five years old I made Mum buy the ‘normal’ kind. Not too dry, not too greasy, just good old normal!

      I think it soaked into my brain and made me who I am today.

      There’s someone else I need to tell you about. The bane of my life. My sister’s best friend: Amber.

       Chapter Three

      Amber thinks she’s a Goddess walking amongst us mere mortals. In her mind she is Aphrodite, Venus and Billie Eilish all rolled into one. You can tell she’s into blonde deities.

      Two weeks ago, I had to endure agonies. I went whole days trying to dodge her because she was staying at our place.

      A typical scenario with Queen Amber is her walking past me in the hallway heading for Caitlin’s bedroom.

      ‘Out of my way, moron,’ she says.

      I bow to her regally and doff my imaginary hat. But anything I ever do just goes right above her head. ‘Past the keeper’, as Dad says.

      ‘Yes, Amber. Anything you say, Amberrrr.’ I roll my eyes at her imaginary perfection as she glides across the carpet and shoves me out of the way. I pretend not to mind the pain as I ricochet off the wall. I don’t even mind the door slamming shut on my nose. It isn’t anything plastic surgery can’t fix.

      As I stagger back down the hall, using wads of tissue to stop the massive nosebleed, I pretend to sing happily to myself: I’m in Heaven . . . I’m in Heaven . . . That is, until I start sneezing. Amber’s perfume can sometimes be super nostril clearing.

      Okay, so right now you’re wondering if I’m a moron, right? Why don’t I go running off to Mum (Dad’s rarely around) and squeal, ‘AMBER’S BASHED MY NOSE IN!’ Well, that’s a difficult question to answer. For starters, no one would believe me. Two, I know she doesn’t really mean to be nasty. And three, and you won’t believe this, but I think I like her. And don’t ask me why, because that’s an even more difficult question.

      And it’s not as though I haven’t looked for an answer. I mean, who in their right mind likes someone who’s so mean to them? But I did ask Jay.

      Jay says, ‘You pick your nose a lot.’

      ‘Fake news!’ I say hotly. Then stop because I realise that might be a sticking point. I need to do that in private if it grosses people out.

      Okay. Nobody’s perfect.

      I do a quick mental experiment. A mental experiment is where you run the idea inside your head, like a little movie. Then you try to see if there are any problems.

       I see myself strolling past Caitlin’s room just as the door opens and Amber comes out. I’m furiously picking my nose, revealing a truckload of lovable snot.

       Amber’s liquid green eyes focus on me. ‘Somebody tell you there was buried treasure up your left nostril?’

       I crack up. ‘HA HA HA! That’s a good one, Amber! Anyone ever tell you, you have an amazing

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