Another alert I had already learned to dread.
“Brielle,” I said carefully, “where exactly did you get the money for that car?”
She tossed her curled blonde hair over her shoulder and smiled.
The smile was familiar.
It was the exact same smile our mother wore whenever she got away with something.
“Oh, relax,” Brielle said. “Don’t start one of your lectures again.”
Then she turned dramatically toward our parents as if she were performing for an audience.
“Mom and Dad helped me figure it out.”
Behind her, our parents stood holding champagne glasses.
They looked proud.
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