"She looks so perfect standing there, in my American Apparel underwear…" I slammed my hand down onto the power button of the car radio, cutting off Five Seconds of…whatever, as well as Ella's exuberant (though not terrible) singing. We had been on the road for only an hour, and I was already getting a headache.
"That," I said firmly, "Is quite enough of that."
"Max! That's not a bad song, you just need to get used to it!" Ella stuck her head through the gap between Mom's and my seats and attempted to stab the on button with a vengeful finger. I grabbed her wrist before she could get to it and covered the button with my right hand.
"No way, no how, compadre," I replied. "I have had the misfortune to be forced to 'get used to it' six times. And I think Mom will agree that I've been a surprisingly good sport."
"It's not hard for people to agree that you've been a good sport, Maxie-poo. All you have to do is refrain from punching people."
"Must be 'cause I'm so special," I said airily.
"Oh, you're special all right. Remember—"
"Girls," Mom interrupted. Ella stopped talking. I sighed in mock enjoyment.
"Ahhh. Peace and quiet."
"Shut up, Max."