Read In Sarah's Shadow for Free Online Page B

unplugs his bass from the amp and lays it tenderly in its case.
    “So, looking forward to the party?” he glances up at me.
    “What party?”
    My heart instantly soars at the idea that there might be some sort of after-show do at the Battle of the Bands competition.
    “At yours, of course! Tonight!” Conor laughs, probably marvelling at how stupendously dense I was being.
    “I—I didn’t know there was one,” I blinked in shock.
    Funny, isn’t it? The only way my parents could relax and enjoy their night away from home was knowing that I wasn’t in the house, getting up to whatever I might get up to (well, it saved them locking all the sharp objects away, I guess). It was OK for Sarah to be home alone, though. Oh yes: she’s the responsible, dependable one out of the two of us. The daughter who can be trusted.
    Ha.
    You want a bet, Mum? Dad?
    Maybe I was feeling a little sorry for myself, or maybe the injustice of it all got the better of me, but whatever, I suddenly felt tears prickle in my eyes. I wasn’tdeliberately looking for the sympathy vote, but I got it anyway, which was pretty nice.
    “Sarah didn’t tell you?” Conor frowned at me. “But you’d be there whatever, right?”
    Was that a “Hope you’ll be there” sort of statement? I thought anxiously, before I shook my head back into reality.
    “No – I’m supposed to be staying over at my friend Pamela’s…” I mumble.
    As the frown on Conor’s forehead deepens, my own heartrate rises rapidly under the full-on beam of those brown eyes close up…
    I’d say Sarah was surprised to see me walk in the front door, but I guess her expression had more to do with shock.
    “Listen,” Sarah hisses, her perfectly made-up face all angular and contorted with anger. “You don’t have to be here, Megan.”
    “Yeah?” I say, in a hopefully brave tone of voice as I try to hang my coat up on the crowded rack and dump my bag on the floor, “I think I do. I live here too or have you conveniently forgotten that?”
    Stunned at me taking a stand against her, Sarah is (yesss!!) temporarily lost for words, which gives me asecond to stare at her. She’s used her hair straighteners, I notice – you can tell by the way her hair is glassy flat, flatter than blow-drying can ever get it. But the glossy surface of her chestnutty hair is vibrating, I notice, maybe with suppressed rage, or maybe because the music exploding from the living room is sending sonic sound-booms through the whole house. I can feel the deep vibration in my chest like regular, flat-handed slaps, and the floor is shaking under the very soles of my Cat boots. Sarah’s wearing boots too – only they’re high and pointy, worn with raspberry cord flares, a long-sleeved, lacy, cropped black top, with nails and lips painted to match the rich, rusty pink-red of her jeans.
    Over Sarah’s shoulder, through the throng of people chatting in the hall, I can see Cherish in the kitchen, throwing back her head and blasting the drooling fan club of boys circling her with a throaty, dirty laugh.
    “Megan, you’re supposed to be staying at Pamela’s. That’s what you promised Mum and Dad!” Sarah snaps at me, raising her voice now that an extra loud Limp Bizkit track’s just come on.
    “Yeah? Well, I remember you promising that you’d look after the house while they’re away. So, what if I phone Mum at Auntie Kelly’s right now and tell her you’ve invited most of the school round to ours for aparty her and Dad know nothing about?!” I answer my sister back. “Mind you, I don’t even need to tell her you’re having a party – she’ll hear it loud and clear down the phone!”
    Sarah looks like she wants to slap me, but I get the feeling that that’s not just ‘cause I’m cramping her style by turning up here at the party I’m not meant to know about, never mind be invited to. It’s also because I’m helping Mr Fisher out. It’s because I’ve been at the last two rehearsals – on