Sixteen - The Infamous Jaimee

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Ricardo was woken up by an incessant pressure against his cheek. It felt suspiciously like a finger. Eyes closed, he reached up and grabbed it as it made another dive into his skin.

"Tessa, I will kill you," he grumbled, half asleep and irritated.

"Should I let her know then?"

Ricardo's eyes snapped open. His sister stared down at him, adorning a smirk that could have graced the Cheshire Cat. He sat up quickly, nearly headbutting her in the process. Before she could recoil far away enough he had snagged her by the lapel and pulled her onto the bed. He wrapped her up in his arms and squeezed, steadfastly ignoring her protests as he grinned over her head. She was near enough six foot tall but he bundled her up like a baby - a fact that she resented if the way she was punching him was anything to go by.

"Cabron!" she howled, trying to pry him away.

He laughed and finally let her go, dodging the second coming of her fists. He even rubbed his shoulder where it smarted. "You've been working out."

Andrea glared at him from the other end of the bed, her hair sticking up in tufts. The last time he had seen her, it was with long, dark hair almost to her waist like their mother. Now it was cut short and shot through with highlights, making her look much older and much more severe. He didn't like it - but then, he didn't like anything that brought her impending maturity to his attention. She flipped it back so he could see her irritation more clearly. "I'm nearly seventeen, you know. You can't do that anymore."

Ricardo grinned and stood, sliding into the clothes that had been in a pile on the floor. "I can do whatever the hell I want, gordita."

She bristled at the comment, as she always did. Despite being the star player of the school's football team and having shed four stone, Andrea hated talking about her past. It was his duty, as her big brother, to always humble her. He looped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her along, through to the living room. She had shot up over the past few years, filling out in ways that most boys found unattractive. She didn't care about boys though, and had said as much when Ricardo asked her who she would go to her prom with. She confided in him when it came to the comments people made about her - but she had refused to talk about prom.

"Who's Tessa?" she asked. She ducked out from under his arm and flopped onto a bar stool at the kitchen island. He flicked the coffee machine on and grabbed two mugs.

"Why aren't you at school?"

She didn't respond and he turned expectantly. She was leaning lazily on the palm of her hand, dark eyes blinking slowly at him. It never failed to amaze him how much she resembled their father. He had inherited most of his looks from their mother but Andrea was the spitting image - albeit more feminine - of Ricardo senior. She had the same downward turn to her mouth - something that gave her away as being miserable until she smiled. Her eyes were deep set too in a way that meant she would never be one for eye makeup. They had laughed over this once, as she thought it ironic because she had no interest in that stuff whatsoever anyway. Despite her heavy features, she was astoundingly pretty with olive skin and bonny cheeks, a proud nose and that glossy hair.

From the moment she had been born, even as a teenager coming into his own, Ricardo had loved her. Their parents had never quite got it right, not with him and not with her. Despite this, she always had him and he made sure that she never wanted for anything. When she needed love, a shoulder to cry on, or just a punching bag - he had been there. It was hard to see her growing up, to see her making her own decisions without consulting him anymore. She was partly the product of his own love and care, and she was sitting in front of him, holding herself like a woman. He felt like a damn dad.

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