I roll my eyes. Like I need Edward to take care of me. I am the taking-care-of-things person in this house, and everyone knows it. Besides, Edward is only twelve. That’s just three-and-a-quarter-years older than me.
Dad kisses me on the top of the head and leaves.
Time to get to work.
“Atten-tion,” I say.
Edward shakes his head at me. “Do you have to do that ‘attention’ thing?”
“Apparently, I do,” I say, staring at his thumbs, which are still jumping around the keyboard of his phone.
He sighs, puts the phone away, and salutes.
“Yes, ma’am. Where do we start?”
I smile. That’s more like it.
