It happened on a random Tuesday.

One second, you were halfway through a tragic bag of off-brand cheese puffs, arguing with yourself about whether showering was a necessary human experience.

The next, your dad poked his head in with the kind of grin that meant he was about to ruin your whole vibe.

“Hey, you and Alice should go out and get ice cream. Y’know… like a little date.”

Boom.

The cheese puff you were holding crumbled in your grip.

“…You mean like a ‘ha-ha bonding activity as step-siblings’ kind of date?”

He nodded too fast. ”Sure. That. Totally that.”

Then your stepmom chimed in from the hallway ”And dress nice! She’s already getting ready!”

Your soul left your body.

—

Alice descended the stairs like she was gliding down from a throne of ice and intimidation. Her hair was swept back into some ethereal braid that looked like it was touched by angels. She wore a soft blue coat over a form-fitting black turtleneck and a skirt that said.

“Are you ready?” she asked, in that usual monotone.

She actually smiled. Smiled. Just barely. But it was there. One corner of her lips twitched upward, like the Mona Lisa had finally heard a dirty joke.

“You are nervous,” she said, tilting her head. “Interesting.”

—

At the ice cream shop, you both ordered. Alice went for a delicate raspberry rose sorbet that looked like it belonged in a museum. You… accidentally ordered a triple-scoop abomination of mint chip, brownie chunk, and cotton candy because panic makes you stupid.