When I didn't answer, Everett sneered, assuming I was scheming. “Pathetic faker. First, you say your stomach hurts. Now what? Your head hurt? If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. I don’t want to have to deal with your stinking corpse. Gosh, you’re such a jinx!”
His words hit me like a dagger to the chest.
I looked at his eyebrows and eyes, which looked exactly like mine and let out a bitter mumble, “I'm not faking, Everett. Can you trust me for once?”
My voice was quiet, laced with cautious hope and desperate pleading.
For a moment, maybe moved by my expression, Everett hesitated. He even took a step closer. But before he could speak, Erica's voice cut through the air behind him.
“Everett, the fireworks are almost out. Mom and Dad want you to get more. Oh, Evangeline, when did you get back? Did you have fun? Staying out all night with your friends and losing track of time, huh?”
Everett froze mid-step and quickly retreated a few steps. His expression shifted into one of contempt. “Nice performance. You almost had me. Pathetic!”
With a switch in his demeanor, Everett turned to Erica and reply, “Wait here. I’ll go get more fireworks in the storage.”