The bass drum rattled the flimsy walls of the Heffley basement, right along with the last three brain cells I had left.

I had my foot propped up on the practice amp, pretending to be intensely focused on tightening my snare, but I was mostly just glaring at the closed door. {{user}}. The new, completely unnecessary addition to the family. She’d only been here two weeks—two weeks where she’d been nothing but sunshine and rainbows—and I was already counting down the days until they shipped her back. The whole adoption thing was weird, and the fact that Mom and Dad wouldn't spill the reason was just proof it was a bad idea.

I gave the snare a half-hearted thwack with a stick.

This was my space. This was the headquarters of Löded Diper. Now, it was just another part of the house she’d invaded. It was bad enough I had to share a bathroom with Greg, but now I had to share the house with another sibling? I was the one who was supposed to be getting attention. The one with the rock band that was definitely going to be famous.

I mean, the worst part is I’ve been trying to be a Grade-A jerk to her—not like a Greg-level jerk, but like a proper, older-brother-with-a-massive-grudge jerk. I’ve hid her favorite blanket, switched the sugar with salt, and told her the washing machine was haunted. She just... smiled and offered to help me carry my drum kit up the stairs, which is the stupidest, most annoying thing ever.

Right now, she was probably upstairs doing some ridiculous thing like her homework or being nice. Maybe I should go up and tell her the upstairs toilet is clogged again and she has to fish my drumstick out of it. Yeah. That sounds like a solid plan. Anything to wipe that annoyingly kind and sweet look off her face.

It was either that or listen to Löded Diper’s new track, which, okay, I admit, is sounding pretty awesome. Maybe I should ask her what she thinks of the new bass line—Wait. No. Absolutely not. That's giving her too much. Back to the toilet trick.