Watts couldn't believe Keith had actually abandoned her. In a maneuver that was, in her opinion, as heartless as it was cold and unfeeling, he had literally walked away from her without so much as a backward glance. And now, here she was in the belly of the beast, hapless and alone like some puny, little minnow that's been chucked into a tank full of piranhas.

As Watts glared at her pocket-sized persecutor from across the table, she decided that she might even hate Keith a little bit. Surely, it was warranted.

"So . . . ." she said, clasping her hands in her lap. Good grief, were her palms really sweating?

"So . . . ." Cindy repeated, with altogether too much confidence for a girl her age—or any age, for that matter. "Keith tells me you got a part-time job at a record store."

"Yeah."

"Do you like it?"

Watts lifted and lowered a shoulder. "It's a paycheck."

"Why do you wear your hair so short?"

"Why do you wear your hair so long?"

Cindy narrowed her eyes at Watts. "Touché."

So, the arrow had hit its mark. Evidently, that elevated Watts in Cindy's estimation, because the next question was, "Do you want to see my room?"

Watts stared blankly at her inquisitor, wondering if she could possibly survive a field trip into the frilly, pinkalicious domain of an eight-year-old girl. If she didn't get trampled by a stuffed elephant, she felt pretty sure that a doll would pee on her. "Why?" she asked, hoping to sidetrack the junior mouseketeer.

Cindy sighed, making it evident that her patience was waning. "You're not very good with children, are you?"

"Not really," Watts admitted. How long could it possibly take Keith to shower and change into a shirt without oil stains on it?

"Interesting . . . . Why do you think that is?"

"I guess I never thought about it. Kids just don't usually take to me."

"That's sad," Cindy observed.

"Trust me. The feeling's mutual." Watts thought that would probably send the girl skittering off to her doll house or her tea set or whatever it was that kids her age did for fun.

But no. Keith's little sister didn't even blink. "Well, it's lucky for you that I'm very advanced for my age," she said. "I think you'll find that I'm not your typical eight-year-old."

"You seem pretty average to me," Watts informed her.

"That just goes to show you that looks can be deceiving."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Really. Take you, for example. If I saw you on the street, I would probably be afraid of you."

"As you should be."

"Nah." Cindy waved away the suggestion. "You're all talk. The 'stay away from me vibe' is actually just an elaborate defense mechanism that you've constructed around yourself because you're afraid of being hurt emotionally. If I had to guess, I'd say that you're a victim of a traumatic childhood."

Watts rolled her eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"

"Yep. From where I'm sitting, you're pretty much an open book."

"Anything else?"

"Just that I can see how much you love my brother."

"You can?" Ugh. Watts shrank from the image of how pathetic she must look.

"Definitely." Cindy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "He loves you, too, you know."

"That's what he tells me."

"According to my Mom, you make him happier than she's ever seen him. Did you know that he's painted you four times?"

"Four times, huh?" So, okay, the kid was starting to grow on Watts . . . . For an eight-year-old, she wasn't completely repulsive.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's a record. Hey, do you wanna see my Garbage Pail Kids?"

"Uh, sure?" What the hell was a Garbage Pail Kid, Watts wondered as Cindy ran into the living room to retrieve a three-ring binder full of cards. It turned out, they were actually kind of cool. I mean, a kid with flames coming out of his head? Who wouldn't love that?

When the front door slammed, Watts flinched.

"Why are you so obsessed with those cards?" Laura grumbled from beneath the massive chip on her shoulder. She flounced into the living room and tossed her bag on the coffee table. "Hey, Watts," she added. "Where's Keith?"

Before Watts could answer, Cindy said, "He's upstairs taking a shower."

"Seriously?" Laura whined. If her tone was any indication, the wound was deep. "I need to use the shower. I'm supposed to meet Jen and a couple of the guys to study. I can't show up like this."

"Weren't you sitting in a desk all day?" Cindy asked. "How dirty could you be?"

Laura flopped onto the couch. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Feel free to wait in your room," Cindy told her. "We won't be offended."

"Why does it feel like I'm always waiting for Keith?" Laura lamented. She stretched her legs across the gap between couch and coffee table, dropping her feet onto the polished tabletop with a thud.

"Like I said, you can wait up—" Cindy began.

"Yeah, I heard you," Laura snapped. "I'm fine right here."

"Lucky us," Cindy muttered, flipping over a card and holding it up to the light.

"So, Watts," Laura said, "are you and Keith, like, a thing now?"

"You know they are," Cindy said.

"I believe I was talking to Watts." Laura sneered. "So, Watts, is it weird?"

"Is what weird?"

"Sucking face with your former best friend."

"Gross," Cindy sang out.

"No, it's not weird," Watts said, feeling mildly defensive. "And it's not gross either. It's actually really, uh, nice. And we're still best friends. That hasn't changed."

"Wait 'til you break up. Then, it'll be super awkward," Laura predicted.

"Who says we're going to break up?"

"You're eighteen-years-old. It's inevitable."

Before Watts could figure out how to respond—or how to casually stuff Laura underneath the sofa cushions—Keith was on his way downstairs, skipping every other stair in his pursuit of the living room. "Laura," he demanded in what was, for Keith, a heightened tone, "what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, doing a poor job of feigning innocence.

"You know what I mean. I heard you from upstairs. Our relationship is none of your business. You don't know anything about anything." Striding across the room to the couch, he reached down and knocked Laura's legs off of the coffee table.

"Hey," she yelled. "Dad told you to keep your hands off of me."

"Then, stop giving Watts a hard time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Sure, you do. You're trying to get into Watts' head so that you can screw around with my life."

"You give me way too much credit, Keith," she insisted. "It was just an innocent conversation. Why do you always have to be so sensitive? And why does it matter what I think of you and Watts anyway?"

"It matters because I love her, and I don't want you making her worry about things that she doesn't need to worry about."

"Keith, it's not a big deal," Watts interjected.

"It is to me," he said.

"Laura's just jealous because she's never had a boyfriend," Cindy concluded. "She's projecting her unhappiness onto the two of you because she wants everyone to feel as miserable and alone as she does."

"Would you shut up, Cindy?!" Laura shrieked, dragging herself off of the couch and running upstairs.

"Wow, that was intense," Watts observed. She winced as the sound of a slammed door caused the ceiling to vibrate.

"I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable," Keith said, extending a hand to Watts. She accepted, allowing herself to be pulled out of her chair and redirected to a space on the couch beside him.

"I'm not uncomfortable," she told him, acknowledging privately that she was, in fact, mildly uncomfortable. Keith needed the lie, though, and now that the angry sister had been removed from the room, Watts' nerves were starting to settle. "Besides, it was kind of hot watching you swoop in and go head-to-head with your unhinged, little sister like that."

"You thought it was hot?" he laughed.

"Yeah. Definitely." She nodded, leaning against him as he wrapped his arm around her.

"I'm still in the room," Cindy reminded them.

"We're aware," Watts responded, wondering if Cindy was open to bribery and how much she might extort from them in exchange for an hour of alone time.

"Just remember to keep it PG," their tiny tormentor admonished them. "So, are you staying for dinner, Watts?"

"Yes, she is," Keith answered, quickly adding, "if she wants to."

"You know I do," Watts responded. "Wednesday night is pot roast, right? I'm a sucker for a good pot roast." In truth, she was a sucker for any meal that was home cooked and eaten around a table with other human beings. Keith's mom could've put a can of Spam and a Jello mold on the table for dinner, and Watts would have been perfectly fine with it. The rest of the family, probably not so much . . . .

"Are you sure Laura didn't upset you?" Keith asked quietly, making it clear that the question was intended only for her ears.

"No. I mean, she does kind of have a point, you know."

"No, she doesn't."

"Come on. You don't think it's a bit of a stretch to assume that we'll be long haulers? We're only eighteen. What are the odds that we'll actually go the distance?"

"The odds are good," he assured her. "We're not breaking up."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"I am," he insisted. "In fact, I'd even bet your hands on it."