Being George’s older sister was a full-time job—and not one you’d signed up for, by the way.

At home, the boyish spark that made George so charming in public transformed into relentless energy, always directed squarely at you, and only you. Whether it was his knack for sneaking into your room to “borrow” things (read: steal and never return) or the way he always seemed to pop up whenever you wanted a moment of peace, George’s mischief knew no bounds. Four years younger than you, but somehow, he managed to get on your nerves in a way no one else could.

You were sitting on the couch, flipping through a book, when George appeared in the doorway. That mischievous grin of his was already plastered on his face, which meant he was about to start something.

“You know,” he began, plopping down unceremoniously on the sofa across from you, “you’re very brave for reading that book.”