The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

My sister, Heather, was waiting for me inside the house.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

She followed me to my room, waving her phone in one hand.

If you saw us standing side by side, you’d never guess we were sisters, and you’d never guess we’re just a year apart. Heather is one year younger. She looks like Dad, and I look like Mom.

(When our parents split up, I think Heather wanted to go live with Dad. But the court wouldn’t allow it.)

I’m small and thin and, I guess, dainty, if that’s still a word. I’m not sure anyone says that. As I’ve said, I’m fair-skinned with pale-blue eyes and lots of freckles around my nose, and I have bobbing curls of straw-blond hair. Heather is nearly six inches taller than I am. She isn’t fat or anything, but . . . well . . . she’s big. Strong. Could probably take on some of the Shadyside basketball team if she had to.

She has short straight black hair that she keeps buzzed on one side, and a round face with big dark eyes. She hates having to wear glasses. She says it makes her look like a giant owl. I wish she wasn’t always so down on herself, because she’s actually very cute. But she’s the poster girl for Low Self-Esteem. Seriously.

Heather had an oversized gray sweatshirt pulled down over black tights. Her hair was brushed to one side so that it looked like she’d been out in a strong wind.

I lifted Mr. Benjamin, my pet rabbit, from his cage, carried him to my bed, and set him down in my lap. I petted the soft fur on his back, and he wiggled his ears to show he liked it.

My mom is allergic to dogs, so Mr. Benjamin was a compromise. But he’s a good pet, very sweet and quiet, and petting him always calms me down.

Heather, I could see, was not calm. She stood in the middle of my room, waving her phone. “I saw it,” she said. Her eyes flashed behind her glasses. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or excited or what.

I squinted at her. “Saw it?”

She nodded. “The pet-store video. On Instagram. I watched the whole thing.”

I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. I could still taste Jack’s lips on mine, and I felt kind of jumpy. I mean, the adrenaline was rushing, and I kept thinking about how nice the whole thing was, even though it shouldn’t have happened.

“It was funny, right?” I prompted her.

“You could have taken me with you,” she said. She set the phone down on my dresser and crossed her arms in front of her. “I like to have fun, too, you know.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. I could see this discussion was about to start up all over again. Believe me, it wasn’t the first time. I could recite this conversation word for word.

“When I went to the mall, I didn’t know—” I started.

She didn’t let me finish. “I asked you at dinner if I could come,” she said, her voice becoming tight, almost choked. “I practically begged you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Heather, please. Do we have to have this discussion again? What do I always tell you?”

Behind the glasses, her dark eyes narrowed in anger. “That I have to have my own friends.”