The Sister Solution

Contents

ONE  The Ninth Ring of Saturn

TWO  Sunbeam

THREE  The Six-Percent Sister

FOUR  Moonbeam

FIVE  Finding Love in the Romance Section (Where Else?)

SIX  On the Dotted Line

SEVEN  Warning: Universe Collapse Imminent

EIGHT  To Quote Dr. Seuss

NINE  One Murder, Possibly Two

TEN  Color Me Shocked

ELEVEN  Revelations

TWELVE  The Big Bang

THIRTEEN  Love and Hate

FOURTEEN  Inside Out and Upside Down

FIFTEEN  Trapped in Paradise

SIXTEEN  First Dance

SEVENTEEN  Last Dance

EIGHTEEN  The Genius Learns a Thing or Two

NINETEEN  A New World

TWENTY  Going Up

Acknowledgments

About Trudi Trueit

For my sister, Lori Dru, and sisters everywhere

And for Sammy, a beacon of hope for many and an inspiration to us all

No one can annoy, embarrass, scold, provoke, exasperate, wound, or love you like your sister

ONE

“I SEE SATURN!” EDEN SQUINTS,
and her cinna mon brown eyes disappear beneath lashes plumped to the max with glittery mascara. “I think.”

A second from biting into my taco, I freeze.

And wait.

And wait.

A chunk of salsa plops onto my plate. I can't stand it any longer. “Well?”

“Yep. It's her. Saturn is buying a salad with app—no, pear slices.”

A wave of fear—a tsunami of terror, actually—surges through me. Saturn is our code for Patrice
Houston, the most popular girl in the eighth grade. If she's at the salad bar, it means I have less than thirty seconds to tame my lion's mane of red hair, shrink four inches, get my ears pierced, buy some new clothes, and make over my entire personality.

Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight . . .

Eden and I gave Patrice the name Saturn because she has rings of friends circling her. The closer friend you are, the closer you get to sit to her at lunch. Eden Tran and I are in one of the outer rings. Okay, the ninth and last ring. Sometimes, she'll talk to us on her way to her table if
we
don't have food in our mouths or are wearing something cute and if
she
hasn't broken a nail, failed a test, or had a fight with the boy she likes. I know that's a lot of “ifs,” but when you've been working your way toward the inner orbit for seven months the way Eden and I have, you take whatever you can get.

Once, when Eden was absent a few months ago, Patrice invited me to sit with her group at lunch. It was my first time in the first ring. I ended up
right beside
Saturn. We were so close Patrice nearly knocked over my apple juice. It was beyond epic. However, I hadn't
been there more than a few minutes when I knew something was wrong. Patrice's pretty face was all caved in. I watched her stab about a hundred holes into her baked chicken before, finally, getting up the nerve to ask, “Is everything okay?”

“I'm in a colossally bad mood,” she hissed.

“Anything I can do?”

“I doubt it. I have a dumb photography assignment due in Hargrove's class. We're supposed to do a study of humanity, whatever that means.”

I couldn't believe it! Not only did I love photography, but I'd had Hargrove for art last semester. I knew what the assignment was, and what he was looking for, and what he was looking for were pictures with emotion. Was it possible that I, the ordinarily average Samantha Eleanor Tremayne, could help the supremely popular Patrice Houston? I whipped out my cell phone. I explained the assignment and started showing her pictures I'd taken so she'd understand what to do. Her face brightened. Scrolling through some of my best shots, Patrice said the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me. She said, “You're a great photographer, Sammi.” I wish she would have said it loud enough for
the whole first ring to hear, but you can't have everything. Patrice even let me snap a selfie of the two of us before lunch ended. I'll never forget that as long as I live. Neither will Eden. She was bummed she'd missed the entire thing.

“Tanith is with her but I don't see Cara anywhere,” Eden says as if she is broadcasting a golf tournament on TV. “Mercy is missing too. Maybe she came in the south entrance and is already in line.” Dark eyes scan the cafeteria. “No sign of SGB either.” SGB (super gorgeous boy) is our code for Noah Whitehall, Patrice's on-again, off-again crush. Current status: off-again.

Twenty . . . Nineteen . . .

I chew on my lower lip. “Do you think they're finished for good?”

“Amy said Desiree heard from Cara that Tanith said she was pretty sure they were, but that was first period and it's been a whole three hours since then so who knows?” Eden flicks her long, silky, black hair over her shoulders. If I tried that move, my garnet-red tumbleweed hair would bounce forward and smother me to death. Hallelujah for gargantuan barrettes like
the big gold clip that's holding my giant mass of hair back right now.

Eden strikes a pose. “Sammi, how do I look? Be honest.”

I don't have to lie. “Stunning, as always.”

“The planet approaches.” Eden glues on a smile. “Look happy.”

Ten . . . nine . . .

I take a deep breath, and the smell of refried beans and onions burns my nostrils. I hold my taco casually in my left hand to make it look as if I am in no hurry to eat because my best friend and I are having the most fascinating conversation in the history of Tonasket Middle School.

“Get ready,” directs Eden between clenched teeth, “in five . . . four . . . three . . .”

We always finish the countdown silently so Saturn doesn't hear.

Two . . . one . . .

“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.” I let out a chuckle and toss my head.

Ka-zing!

I feel a thump on the back of my skull. I turn my
head in time to see my gold Celtic-knot barrette catapult across the cafeteria. Shoot! I don't know how far the metal missile streaks or where it lands because soon after, I am blinded by a woolen blanket of my own hair.

Crunch!