Page 20 of Power Shift

“Stop what?”

“Moving the table.”

“Was an accident.”

With a pointed huff, she returns to her work. I watch closely as I scrape my spoon along the edge of the bowl, making that toe-curling noise we all hate.

Her teal-blue eyes are as sharp as knives when they lift from her papers and pin me. “Do that again and I’ll shove that spoon up your?—”

“Ciara,” Mom warns, clucking her tongue.

A steaming bowl of oatmeal clunks on the table in front of my sister, making her shut up quicker than the order from our mom. Her face pales slightly as she stares at it.

Mom takes the seat across from me and scoops some oatmeal onto her spoon. “Your brother is too old for you to be bullying him.”

“I’m not bullying him,” Ciara argues.

I take a bite of the oatmeal and swallow instantly. “You are.”

“Don’t try and put the blame on me. I’m only eighteen. My brain hasn’t finished growing yet.”

“Pretty sure that’s only true for guys.”

She flashes me her middle finger. “That would explain why you’re still stupid.”

“Ciara,” Mom scolds, sounding far more tired than the first few times.

My sister drops her finger and waves at me. “Fine. You’re not stupid.”

“That’s better. We have more important things to talk about than this,” Mom says, meeting my gaze.

Her brown eyes are the same shade as mine, but instead of swirling gold flecks, she has green ones. And right now, there’s no mistaking the anger in them.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting forward in my seat.

“Do you want to tell me why when I went to pay the bill for Ciara’s first semester’s tuition, I was told it had already been taken care of?”

“Because I paid it last week.”

The muscles in her face tighten. “Why?”

“You’re not paying for her education. If you’re going to keep living here, then I’m going to pay the tuition.”

“No. You’ll be coming with me to the bank after breakfast so I can transfer you the money you paid.”

I take a bite of my oatmeal, not slouching beneath her anger. “That’s not happening.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, Mom, it isn’t. I don’t need the money. I have too fucking much of it as it is.”

“Does it matter who pays as long as it isn’t me?” Ciara asks, cutting in.

Mom pushes my sister’s bowl closer to her. “I’m the parent. Yes, it matters.”

“But why?”

“It’s my responsibility to take care of you. Your brother doesn’t need to do that,” Mom snips.

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