The living room was warm and cozy.
Mom, Dad, and my sister were sitting on the couch watching TV.
The moment she saw me, my mother wiped the smile clean off her face.
"Where have you been? Your sister's starving! Get in the kitchen and start cooking!"
I squeezed the lab report in my hand. Three times the words rose to my lips. Three times I swallowed them back down and said, "Okay."
I shoved the report into my bag and got to work in the kitchen.
An hour later, I brought out four dishes and a soup.
Mom scooped rice into my sister's bowl. Dad piled food onto her plate.
They said Laurel Dickerson had worked all day and must be exhausted, that she needed to eat more.
But I'd worked all day too. Then I came home and cooked. Nobody asked whether I was tired. Nobody cared.
Over dinner, my mother said, "Come home earlier next time, you hear me? You were so late today. What if your sister had starved?"
I forced a smile uglier than tears and nodded. "Okay."
Watching the three of them eat together like a happy little family, a thought crept in. I wanted to see what would happen if they believed the sick one was Laurel.