Strings Attached

Chapter One

The first day of senior year should be exciting and nostalgic, your parents crooning about how much you've grown and that they swear that only yesterday you were just taking your first steps. This morning, there's no nostalgia—only shouting and anxiety.

"Come on, Austin!" I slam my palm against his bedroom door a few more times. "Get your butt out of bed and downstairs!"

From the other side of the door I hear growing and profanity commenting on how great of an older sister I am. With the way he's going on, I might end up blushing at his sentiment. This boy was really asking for either a bone-crushing hug or a soccer ball thrown at his head. If this keeps up maybe he can have both. "I love you too, Aussie. Now get ready for school, please," I say, forcing the irritation out of my voice.

Elliott comes out of his room on the other side of the hall, his pajamas rumpled and his brown curls sticking up at odd angles. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he half asks, half yawns, "Cody, why are you yelling at Austin?"

"Because it's the first day of school, remember? Austin is being a dumb butt and refusing to get up," I say the last part enough for the oldest of my brothers to hear. There's a thump from inside his room followed by a string of curses.

Luckily, Elliott is too excited to notice. "Really?" His brown eyes light up and sleep seems the farthest thing from his mind. When I nod, a gap-toothed grin appears on his face. "Yes!" he exclaims and runs back into his room to get ready.

If only Austin could be as enthusiastic about starting freshman year the way our little brother is about going into second grade. "Austin Michael, be dressed and downstairs in five minutes or less, please and thank you," I tell him, my tone half pleading and half commanding. All I get is a grunt in return.

Sighing, I make my way down stairs. It's only been four months, but I am already exhausted from having to be more than just their sister. Trying to get both of them to what they need to do is like herding feral cats, except I am almost entirely certain that there are cats out there that are more willing to listen than my brothers are. I love them to pieces, though, and wouldn't trade them for anything.

Grabbing my empty mug from where I left it on the counter, I pour my fourth cup of coffee for the morning. I woke up at three, unable to sleep from a nasty combination of nightmares and anxiety. Instead of staring at the ceiling and getting trapped in my own head, I went running in the hopes the burn of my lungs and familiar stretch of my muscles would clear my head. I returned home an hour later with an even more jumbled and crowded head and the minute chance I had of falling back asleep vanished, yet I felt exhausted. It wasn't anything new, though. The past four months, I've functioned only because of the insane amount of coffee I drink.

I set the mug down when I realize that my hand is shaking. Distracting myself, I begin to make Elliott's lunch because he is going through a phase where he refuses to eat anything besides a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. That kid is crazier than Austin and me combined—and that's really saying something—so it's a good thing he's cute.

Lucy walks into the kitchen in an almost comatose state, clearly only half awake, wearing her glasses and her red hair is thrown up in a messy bun on the top of her head; her bright hair and blue eyes are still an unusual sight for me because everyone else in the house has the trademarked Walker faded brown hair and mocha colored eyes. I hand her the cup of coffee that I had on standby. She murmurs her thanks into the mug. We stay in companionable silence for a minute or two, me finishing up Elliott's lunch and grabbing out bowls for cereal while she drinks her coffee.