“Linda—my new boss—she’s going to help me get clothes.”

He nodded, relieved. “Good. Good.” Then he pulled me into a rare hug. “I’m proud of you.” My dad was tall, so my cheek pressed against his chest. He smelled like cinnamon gum.

“No need to get all mushy. It’s eight hours a week.”

“I’m proud of you too,” Gage said, throwing his arms around us and sending us all collapsing to the sofa.

“Gage,” my dad grunted, untangling himself from our bodies and standing.

Gage filled in the now empty space by wrapping one arm around my neck and the other behind my knee and proceeding to fold me in half. I kicked and struggled to get out. “Surrender,” he said.

“Don’t break anything,” my dad said and walked away. “Oh, and congratulations, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” I called, sounding a bit like Kermit the Frog with my neck bent over like that. I pinched Gage hard on the side and he yelped but didn’t let go. I squirmed and kicked and wasn’t above biting, but I couldn’t get a good hold on his arm. My brothers always called me a cheater when I bit, but they had twice as much muscle as I did, so I had to find a way to even the playing field.

“Surrender,” he said again.

I pushed off the ground with my free foot and almost succeeded in rolling us off the couch, but he eased me back into place.

“Charlie, you stubborn child, just admit I have you. You can’t get out of this.”

I pushed against his neck and he gagged a little, but then just pulled my arm into his hold. The front door opened and closed, and Braden said, “Hey, guys.”

Gage looked over, distracted, and I forced my leg out of the hold then kneed him in the stomach. He reeled back and I jumped on him, pushing his face against the cushion.

“You’re ruthless,” he said.

“I learned it from you.” I let him go, then stood. “Hey, Braden. How was your mom’s birthday dinner last night?”

“Same old, same old.”

I tilted my head, wanting him to go on. Braden was an only child, so he was always the center of attention . . . and expectations. Sometimes I felt like he came to our house as often as he did to be surrounded by chaos. To disappear. I stared at him, but he didn’t continue. He grabbed the remote off the end table and turned on the TV. “I thought for sure you guys would be watching the A’s game.”

“Whoa! What time is it?” I consulted the clock on the DVD player. “Crap. It’s already halfway over.” I claimed my position on the couch.

It was as if the sounds of the game called my brothers from their hideouts, because soon the living room was full, everyone shouting at the TV, soda cans and chips open on the coffee table. We didn’t have a favorite sport in our house. We liked them all.

My dad came down and gestured for Gage to scoot over, which meant I had to scoot over into Braden’s hard side. He moved his arm to the back of the couch to make more room. The smell of his deodorant assaulted my senses. “You smell good.”

He pulled me into a headlock, holding me there for a minute. “You’re stuck now.”

I opened my mouth, ready to bite, when he must’ve realized what I was doing because he pushed me away with a laugh. I threw both my legs over one of Gage’s and grabbed the jar of peanuts off the coffee table.

“No!” Braden yelled at the television, right in my ear.

I elbowed him.

“Sorry,” he said, distracted.

Gage absently patted one of my knees with his closed fist. Thump thump thump. I kicked a little and he stopped. But then Braden, drinking a soda, gulped loudly in my ear. Seriously, was he the loudest swallower in the world? I stood and started collecting empty soda cans off the table in front of us.

Braden reached up and pushed me over a little so he could see the TV.

“Oh, excuse me, was I in your way?”

“Yes, actually, so move it or lose it.”

“Lose what?”

He pushed on the back of my knee with his foot and my leg gave out from under me, causing me to fall, the soda cans landing on the floor.

“Death to you.”

I dropped to my hands and knees on the floor and collected the soda cans, then carried them toward the kitchen. As I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder. All their eyes were glued to the television. Warmth surged through my cold heart. I loved these guys so much. They were my life and I couldn’t think of anything better than all of us together, just hanging out and doing nothing. I must have lingered in my happy feelings for too long, because Braden looked up, met my eyes, then gave me the “What’s your deal?” face: one eyebrow raised, mouth twisted up.

I scrunched my nose at him and then walked into the kitchen.

Chapter 6

I hoped so badly that the guys never, ever came to visit me at work. This was my wish the next day as I stood in front of what had to be the most awful mirrors in the world—they showed three angles simultaneously—trying on the bajillionth outfit for Linda. I looked ridiculous.

We were behind some large flowered screens at the back of the store, so at least people walking by on the street outside couldn’t witness my humiliation.

“These clothes fit you well,” she said, adjusting the flowing top that hung a little too low in the front for my taste. I was used to the high neck of a T-shirt. And I always thought jeans were meant for comfort. These jeans felt like they were attempting to hold my thighs in place.

“This is why models are so tall. Because clothes look good on tall people. It’s completely unfair.”

“Okay, I think I’m done playing dress-up forever. Which ones do you want me to buy?”

“Well, that’s up to you, Charlie. Which ones speak to you?”

I coughed as I got a big whiff of the incense she had lit for this “experience.” I waved my hand through the air. “Not a single piece of clothing spoke to me.”

She placed a finger on my forehead. One thing I was learning rather quickly about Linda was that she didn’t understand the concept of personal space. Not that I had a lot of personal space in my life, but generally strangers granted me that much. “Find your center. Feel your aura,” she said, her finger still on my head.

“Neither me nor my aura know how to pick out clothes. Which ones do you like?”

“Okay. That’s very practical of you. We are never fair judges of ourselves. An outside observer is much more likely to accurately tell us what looks the best on us.” She studied all the clothes I had tried on.