GLOW

CHAPTER 8

I walk through the doorway to hear my dad yelling. "Esme! Esme?"

I raise my hand meekly. "Here, Dad. What's up?"

"Oh, Esme! You didn't show up and I thought you might be hiding. We're going to the concert soon. Dress up clothes."

"What concert?"

"Have you forgotten already?" His shoulders slump. "Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. We're going to a One Direction concert. A half-birthday present for you."

"Really?!?" I squeal and drop my bag. Call me basic, but I love One Direction and seeing them in concert is my number one dream. Well, number two, after getting a boyfriend...maybe someday. "I love you so much, Dad!" I say as I hug him tight. "Thank you!"

He chuckles. "Don't go thanking me - thank your mother. She paid for the tickets."

"Has everyone known about this?" I ask.

"Well, yeah. Everyone but you, evidently. I'm sorry about that, I really am. It wasn't supposed to be this big surprise." He brightens as he looks at my huge grin. "But I guess it worked out pretty well that way, huh?"

"Sure did, Dad. I'll be down soon."

Ten minutes later, I emerge into the kitchen wearing my favorite dress, a skintight, navy blue one that accentuated my eyes. I look pretty good, if I do say so myself.

"Are we having supper first?" I ask, glancing around. Everyone but Lyra is sitting at the table.

"Yep. Just waiting for Lyra to get her butt down here," Vivia replies, who is wearing a white lacy dress that hugs her actual curves - I've always been jealous of Vivia's hourglass shape - and contrasts nicely with her suntanned skin, black hair and brown eyes. If people ask about my ethnicity a lot, it's nothing compared to Vivia. She's constantly mistaken to be part Middle Eastern.

"Vivia!" Mom scolds, but then cracks the slightest of smiles. "Sorry. That was my mom-of-a-seven-year-old voice talking. We are waiting for your sister, still. I'm not sure what's taking her so long."

"I'll check." I hop back up the stairs, still vibrating with happy energy. I knock on her door and crack it when she didn't answer. "Lyra?" I ask, suddenly afraid. "Are you in there?"

I put my ear close to the door and keep quiet, straining to listen. Suddenly, I hear an animal-like snuffle. "Lyra!" I hiss and throw open the door to reveal, of all things, Lyra, with only her underwear on and with an unconscious piglet in her room!

"Lyra! What on earth are you doing with a pig in your room?"

Her eyes widen and brim with tears. "Please don't tell Mom," she pleads. "He climbed in my window. I think he's hungry and lost. He needs my help."

I'm still so in shock at seeing my sister cuddled up with a pig that I absentmindedly say, "No, sure, I won't tell Mom. But..." I try to think. "You've got to make him a bed and leave him there, okay? We're waiting for you to eat supper - downstairs in the kitchen. Why are you almost naked? Come to think of it, how on earth did a pig get in a second-floor window?"

"Oh, that." Lyra glances down at her mostly bare body. "I thought making the pig feel nice and warm and safe might not go well for my dress. I was going to change after I got him settled in. I guess he climbed up my ladder I have outside my window."

"You have a ladder? Outside your window? How is a pig climbing a ladder even possible?"

"Yeah, I have a ladder. How else am I going to get outside if I don't want to go down the stairs? Besides, it's not very steep. I think it's more like stairs for a pig."