Banana Cream Pie

“That’s a bit of a non-sequitor,” I responded, fiddling with the ties on my black hoody. It was unbearably hot underneath the sweater, but mother had made me wear a frilly, short-sleeved blouse, of all things. The fact that she was so adamant about me looking “presentable” just made me more certain that there was no way I was going to wear such a ridiculous garment without something over it.
“God, Mer,” Alex said. “Sam promised that she’s going to get you back for humiliating her last year, so just watch out for her, ‘cause she still hates you.”
“Your sister’s insane,” I said, listening to the sounds of the adults yabbering away outside. I wondered how they stood the sun. At least inside there was air conditioning. I was still sweltering, though.
“Yeah, but she can still drench you with a hose or throw a banana cream pie in your face or something,” Alex said, switching on the TV.
“Not if I get her first,” I said, grinning.
“Sometimes you scare me, Mer,” Alex laughed. “But she deserves it.”

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