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trying to sound chipper.
    “You’re utterly transparent,” I said.
    But I let her guide me out into the hallway and back to my room. We both flopped backward on my bed, and she grabbed my old blue teddy bear, Mr. Teeth, and started tossing him into the air.
    “How was school?” she asked, in the tone of voice that means she wants something.
    “Fantastic,” I answered. “How about for you?”
    She hugged the bear tight to her chest. “Not so great.”
    “No? What happened?”
    She shrugged and yawned. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Okay.” Let’s see, a half-hour whinefest about the middle school cafeteria running out of pudding versus peace and quiet? I didn’t press for details.
    “Hey, Lexi,” she said, her voice small and hopeful. “Did you do an ancestor report in eighth grade?”
    “Don’t remember.”
    “Everybody does one.”
    “Then yeah, I guess.”
    “Do you still have it?”
    “I must,” I said. I’m a pack rat, like my mom. Thankfully I’m also obsessively neat, like my dad. I even have file cabinets of my very own. ( Thanks, Santa! ) “I wouldn’t have thrown it away. Why do you ask?”
    “I have to do one,” she said. “And it’s hard.”
    “When’s it due?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “Kasey!” I said, sitting up. “You always do this!” Every couple of months, it seemed, the whole household was thrown into chaos because of some academic crisis caused by Kasey’s poor planning.
    I thought she might cry. “I know, but I can’t help it.”
    “That’s a cop-out. You could. If you tried.”
    She pulled Mr. Teeth tightly across her face. “I know. I know. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know— ”
    “God, stop!” I said, grabbing the bear away. This was the way most of her weird moody spells started—she’d get all wound up about nothing.
    She closed her eyes and sighed. “You don’t have to help me.”
    “Seriously, tomorrow?”
    She nodded. She looked completely miserable all of a sudden. Her face had gone all splotchy, and her blue eyes were bright like she might start crying.
    Kasey’s in eighth grade. That means she has less than a year to pull herself together enough to survive being my sister at Surrey High.
    She’s supersmart, but it’s the kind of smart that makes you think she’s going to end up a mad scientist. She can read something in a book and remember it exactly. She can’t see scary movies because she’ll remember all the scary parts perfectly and have nightmares for months. I’m smart too, but I’m more like “take the toaster apart and put it back together and, lo and behold, it still works” smart.
    “I’ll help you, I guess,” I said. “You can’t just not turn one in.”
    She made a gurgly sighing noise. “Oh, thank you.”
    “You should try to plan ahead next time.”
    She sniffed. “Who are you, Mom?”
    I whomped her with Mr. Teeth.
    “Is it in your files?” she asked, popping up off the bed. “Can I look?”
    “I’ll find it for you,” I said. “Later. Right now I need a nap.”
    “Yay, yay, yay,” she said, dancing out into the hallway.
    One second, the weight of the world. The next, lighter than air.
    Must be nice.
    A thought occurred to me. “Hey, Kase, come back,” I called. “I heard the stupidest thing today.”
    She reappeared in the doorway, looking at me curiously.
    “It’s dumb,” I said. “It’s silly . . . it’s just something Pepper Laird said.”
    Her eyes were still wide, but a deep crease spread over her forehead.
    “When Mimi broke her arm, that was an accident, right?”
    Kasey was quiet for a moment.
    I swallowed hard. “I mean, Pepper’s totally stupid, I just thought I’d ask.”
    “They’re both stupid,” Kasey said. “Stupid Pepper and stupid Mimi.”
    “Right,” I said. “So you aren’t friends with Mimi anymore?”
    Kasey scooped Mr. Teeth off the bed and threw him at the headboard. “Mimi Laird is a fathead liar! She has no idea what she’s talking about!