Cease-Fire Between Rafe and Me (This Is Real. Honest.)

I was just about to fall asleep when someone knocked on my door.

“It’s Rafe—can I come in?”

I was immediately suspicious. Usually, Rafe doesn’t knock—he just barges right in.

“Okay,” I said, sitting up in bed.

“How did the band do?” He sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Rhonda sang. It was amazing,” I told him.

“I knew you guys would be good.”

“What?” I kicked him a little with my blanketed foot. “You think we stink!”

Rafe shrugged. “You don’t really stink that bad,” he admitted.

“I’m glad you made me go to the dance,” I said.

Rafe shrugged. “I didn’t make you.”

“Still. I wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for you. So…” I bit my lip. “Thanks.” Wow. I just said “thank you” to my brother. This night was definitely one for the record books.

Rafe looked down at my old quilt. He traced the pattern with his finger. “Listen, uh… maybe a brother and sister shouldn’t fight so much.”

“Are you talking about a specific brother and sister?” I asked.

Rafe rolled his eyes and then looked into my face. “Me and you,” he said.

“Well, it’s not my fault, Rafe.”

“I know.”

“Oh,” I said. “So—are you saying it’s your fault?”

“I’m saying we could both do a better job. I mean, what are we fighting about, anyway? It’s almost like it’s just a habit. It’s not like we hate each other. Right?”

Then I waited for him to say something sarcastic. I waited quite a while. “You have a point,” I said at last. “Maybe we even like each other,” I went on bravely. “I mean, sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Rafe nodded. “Good.” Then he stood up and walked out of my room.

Wow. That was unexpected.

I guess I’d finally worn him down, like a bar of soap.

Cease-Fire Over, War Resumes

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

“Rafe!” I screeched as I dug a spoon into my muesli the next morning. “There’s a snail in my cereal!”

“I thought you liked escargot,” Rafe shot back. “It’s French.”

Oooooh, I’m going to GET him for this! I thought, and the thought actually made me kind of… happy.

It had only been a few hours, but I’d missed the sneak attacks. The tactics. The squealing. The repartee. (Look it up. Merriam-Webster has an online dictionary.)

Hey, it’s nice when Rafe is being sweet. But it’s more fun when he’s being Rafe.

And… I Lost the Bet

Surprised?

I wasn’t.

I didn’t get straight A’s—I got a B+ in English—and the Princesses did NOT get personality transplants and suddenly become my friends.