Page 2 of The Fool

But then, shortly after me, my sister also morphed into something that made her look more woman than child. Whereas I had kept being who I was, she embraced the world of social media, the vanity, the make-up, and handbags. She seemed happy, even if I didn’t understand how she had come to change so much in such a short period of time. I didn’t question it, but that didn’t mean I didn’t worry about her.

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Bea, 18

“What the hell are you doing?”

I have to try hard to stop myself from laughing at the scene playing out before me because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty ridiculous. Full on pout with makeup troweled on to perfection, my baby sister, Emma, is extending her favorite life support, her mobile, at arm’s length. Several clicks later, she studies her art for several intense moments before finally responding to the actual human being in the room.

“I’m taking a selfie for my profile page,” she says as though I’m pathetically stupid for not having come to that conclusion myself. Being only a year younger than me, she pities the fact that I don’t choose to make myself up in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, only to stare at my phone with a pose that any Kardashian would be proud of.

“You should try it sometime. You might get yourself more friends if you did.”

“Oh, because befriending people who take an interest in me based on how many likes I get on social media is clearly the way forward. Trust me, I know what people say about me and I’d rather not see it in black and white.”

I scoff over her ridiculous outlook on life, shake my head with an eye roll, and wander off to answer the door.

Don’t ask me why my boyfriend of two years insists on knocking when he could just walk in. Maybe he’s being polite, maybe he’s being respectful, or maybe it’s because he always looks like he’s about to piss his pants every time he sees my big brother, Ben. Either way, he’s here that often, I’ve told him he should just come in.

Dean’s shaggy blond hair greets me as he continues staring down at his phone when I open the front door. He manages to kiss me on the cheek without even taking his eyes away from the screen.

“Hi?” I exclaim, seeking acknowledgment from the guy who once told me he could stare at me all day. Granted, it was leading up to a rather intimate moment, but still, it kind of bums me out that he’s so easily distracted. “I could have been Emma for all you know,” I huff.

Taking his sweet time to look up at me, he smirks cheekily and with an air of confidence any life coach would be proud of, before sauntering over to kiss me properly.

“Nah, I saw your shoes,” he says as Emma sashays into the kitchen, face plastered in makeup and wearing a low-cut top that shows off her very sizeable bust. “She wouldn’t be caught dead in trainers, would you, Em? Nice pic, by the way, you already have at least a dozen likes.”

She gasps over the very idea of being seen in my raggedy old trainers, then proceeds to pour herself a glass of OJ.

“I don’t do scruffy shoes, that’s Bea’s signature style.”

Feigning insult, I mouth the word ‘bitch’ to her before sinking back against Dean’s lean frame with a casual grin. He wraps his arms around my waist before resting his chin on top of my head because I’m that small.

“Maybe she has a point, babe,” he says to me, “you could sex it up a bit. The guys are always telling me what a tomboy you are. I’m sure Emma would help you out.”

“Damn straight!” Emma’s eyes bulge with renewed enthusiasm. “Please let me make you over, pretty please!”

She dramatically sinks to the floor, hands poised in a begging position, making both Dean and I laugh, just as Mom walks in with two heavy bags of shopping.

“Gee, thanks, you guys, I think I’m actually offended,” I say half-heartedly as I rush over to relieve Mom of the bags, which have left red indents inside of her small fingers. She blows onto her mangled hands before offering a smile in thanks. Neither Dean nor Emma have noticed the exchange, being that they are currently engaged in a non-verbal affair with their phones.

“Mom, do you think I need a makeover?”

“What? No, you are beautiful; don’t mess with perfection!” she says with her mom goggles on, but I love her for it. A pang of hurt hits my chest without warning. Why doesn’t Dean see me in this rose-tinted light? I thought he loved me, but if he did, surely, he’d want me to be who I am, not an Emma wannabe.

“Yesss! One hundred likes in only five minutes. That’s how it’s done, bitches!”

She begins jumping up and down like an idiot. She manages to gain Dean’s attention with her jiggling chest, hypnotizing his primitive urges with their rhythmic movements.

“What?” Mom gasps when she finally looks up from sorting items around in the fridge. “Oh, where are you going, Emma? Out on a date?”

“No, why?”

Emma looks positively confused, not realizing it’s a perfectly valid question given the fact she looks ready to hit the local nightlife at three in the afternoon. Mom simply gestures to her outfit with a quirk of her brow.

“Oh, no,” she says as she flaps her hand in front of her perfectly coiffed head, laughing at Mom condescendingly because she’s clueless to social media. “This is just for my profile pic.”

Mom makes an ‘oh’ shape with her mouth but still looks just as oblivious. I shake my head and smile, silently telling her it’s not something to worry about, just another first-world issue.

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