“Thanks.” I cuddled the jug close to my chest as Mom blew into the house like a five-­foot-­and-­three-­inch tornado with short, spiky brown hair. “It’s just you today?”

She closed the door in a whirl and adjusted her red-­rimmed glasses. Not only did I get my lack of height from Mom, I also got her crappy eyesight. Yay, genetics! “Your father is golfing with your brother.”

I assumed “your brother” meant my older brother, Gordon, because my younger brother, Thomas, was going through some kind of goth stage and wouldn’t get within five miles of a golf course.

“He’s going to have a heart attack in this heat, you know? It’s absolutely ridiculous that he’s out there. Same with Gordon,” she carried on, making her way to the secondhand couch I bought when I moved into the apartment four years ago. She dropped down. “He needs to be more responsible—­your brother, since he has my grandbaby on the way.”

I had no idea how playing golf in August had anything to do with his wife being three months pregnant, but I let that slide as I carried the jug to the fridge. “Want anything to drink?”

“I drank so much coffee that I’m surprised I didn’t float my way here.”

My nose wrinkled as I opened the door. Taking a startled step back, I stared into the fridge, my fingers tightening around the handle on the jug. “What the . . . ?” I muttered.

“What are you doing, honey?”

Unsettled, I stared in the fridge. On the top shelf, next to the case of soda, was the remote control to the TV. I’d never in my life ever accidentally put the remote or any other non-­consumable goods in the fridge. I didn’t know anyone in real life who’d even done that, but there it was, sitting on the shelf like a tarantula perched to attack.

I glanced at the sink window, stomach tumbling as I thought of the blur of movement I’d seen outside earlier. It was nothing, and I had to be a lot more tired than I thought I was, but still it was weird—­very weird.

I shook my head as I snatched the remote from what I was beginning to think was the fridge in Ghostbusters II, and put the tea in to cool.

Twisting on the couch, Mom patted the cushion next to her. “Sit with me, Roxanne. We haven’t talked in a while.”

“We talked on the phone yesterday,” I reminded her as I closed the door and brought the remote back to where it needed to stay, on the coffee table, like a good little remote.

Her brown eyes, just like mine, rolled. “That was forever ago, honey. Now get your ass over here.”

I got my butt over there and the moment I sat down, she lifted a slender hand and gently poked at the messy ponytail I was rocking. “What happened to the red streaks?”

Shrugging, I reached up and tugged out the hair tie. My hair was long, reaching my nonexistent breasts. Other than the purple streaks, my hair was a deep brown. I messed with it a lot, so much so I was surprised it hadn’t fallen out of my head yet. “I got bored with it. You like the purple?”