The Arch

I plopped my bags on the floor next to the plain white door. My lip curled. I had found my bedroom.
“DIBS MINE!” I hollered down the stairs.
“Not fair!” screamed Christie from the floor below. I rolled my eyes as she came barreling up the stairs. “I haven’t even had time to choose!”
“Build a bridge and get over it!” I said angrily.
“That’s my thing!” She said furiously. A wave of anger washed over me. How dare she label something like that hers. Everyone KNOWS that everything should belong to me!
“Well too freaking BAD!” I shot back.
“DAD!” she yelled, her light brown hair swinging across her face as her mouth stretched so that she looked like an angry anime cartoon. I rolled my eyes again and folded my arms. I was Daddy’s little girl.
He would always stick up for me.
“What is it?” He called in an anxious voice. He was strained, I knew that. He appeared at the foot of the stairs bags piled precariously in his arms.
“Michelle chose a bedroom before me and she won’t let us have a debate!” she said.
Liar!
She knows dad loves debates. When Christie and I fight over something, he tells us to debate. Debate, debate, debate. That’s his answer to everything.
Dad frowned. “Sorry girls, but a debate won’t be needed. You both need to share a bedroom. My office is going in the green room. The blue room is going to be a guest bedroom because your Auntie Emma is coming to stay for a few weeks. You’ll have to make do in the same room.”
“WHAT!?” we both yelled at the same time.
“I’m sorry, but there’s not enough room at the moment.” He said nervously.
“But, dad-!” I started, but was interrupted.
“Now that’s enough! School will be starting soon and you’ll have enough homework not to care where your things are! Now unpack and stop pestering me!” He said, suddenly very forceful. Both Christie and I were surprised. Maybe me more than her.
Dad never raised his voice, let alone to me.
Miserably, Christie and I picked up our bags and carried them into our new rom. If there was one time where we had ever agreed on something, it would have been now.
Well, that was just damn fine. We could get along. At least, for a little while. Not saying that I want to of course, but if it means getting my own room, I'd be a perfect litte angel. I mean, Christie barely ever yells. I'm sure she wouldn't even care if I let those beautiful, fuzzy slippers on her bed that she hates....

***

"Michelle, for god's sake! GET YOUR FUZZY PRADA SLIPPERS OFF MY BED!"