“Hey, uh, Liz,” my dad says on the other side of the door. “I’ve been waiting on some important mail. Those documents from the bank in Connecticut. You haven’t seen anything come through with my name on it, have you?”

“I sent Sweet Pea over with a few things that came in, but that’s all I’ve seen.”

“Huh. That’s weird. I’ll check with her.”

Connecticut? Grandma lives in Connecticut, and it’s clear across the country. I’ve visited a few times, but mostly she just comes to see us to get away from the cold winters. Why would Dad be waiting on papers from a bank in Connecticut?

Panic balloons in my chest, and even though there’s not a thing left in my stomach, I think I might just puke all over again.

When I flip over on my side and pull my pillow tight to my cheek, my fingers slide against a piece of paper. Kiera’s letter. I’d almost forgotten.

My panic dissolves into rage.

Kiera wants an answer to all her problems? Fine. I’ll give her an answer.

Quietly I make my way to my desk and use my mini flashlight to find a piece of paper and a pencil.

Dear Not a Spoiled Brat, I write, but I press so hard the tip of my pencil snaps.

I take a deep breath. This is for all the times I wasn’t quick enough on my feet to think of a comeback and for all the times Kiera’s made me look like a fool and for completely cutting me out of her life when I wasn’t cool enough anymore. I dig out a new pencil and try again.

Dear Not a Spoiled Brat,

I think you’re suffering from a medical condition known as the me-me-me’s. Sometimes the best advice is the toughest to hear, but it sounds like you need a whole bunch of the tough stuff. Have you ever considered that maybe right now you are the least of your parents’ worries? You say you’re not a spoiled brat, but what if you’re the reason your parents can’t stand each other? I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of their disagreements start with you. You want to know what? Sometimes adults are too easy on kids. Everyone always tells kids it’s not their fault, but maybe it is. Maybe it’s time to grow up and be a little more thankful for all the things you have. Maybe Not a Spoiled Brat is 100 percent a spoiled brat after all.

Sincerely,

Miss Flora Mae

Ask and you shall receive, Kiera Bryant.

Chapter Fifteen

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

The next morning, Dad doesn’t even bother waking me up on time for school, and after having a stream of nightmares where I opened jack-in-the-box after jack-in-the-box with Kiera’s head popping out instead of a clown’s, I’m happy to spend a day at home. I ruined my perfect attendance record back when my parents announced their divorce anyway. I locked myself in my room and went on a hunger strike. (Though to be fair, my parents were totally unaware of the emergency Doritos I stole from the kitchen on day two.)