Between your two stepsisters, Jennifer has always been your favorite. She can be blunt, dry, a little dark, yet she treats you like a human being, which is more than can be said of Emily. Thinking about it, you can't remember a time when the two of you ever got into a heated argument. She's always been chill, reserved, even when calling you out on your bullshit.
"Hey," the girl says when she answers the bedroom door. There's heavy metal playing on the radio, gritty and raw. She brushes a lock of dyed black hair out of her eyes. "What's up, weirdo? Why are you looking at me like that?"
You didn't realize you were looking at her in any particular way. She's changed out of those red pajamas and into a pair of black jeans, a tight-fitting band shirt and a pair of chunky platform boots which lift her up to your height. It's a look that fits somewhere between gothic and punk.
"Oh, I, um, was just wondering what you were up to today."
"Five-seven, same as usual," Jennifer jokes flatly. "Aside from that, honestly, I'm not really in the mood for much today. My 'give-a-fuck' is on the fritz."
Must be romantic trouble, although you've never actually met any of her boyfriends. Wearing a frown, you say, "Yeah, I've been there before." Fingertips brushing against the remote in your pocket, you brighten up. "Hey, I might have something to cheer you up, Jen."
"Scotch? Because that might do the trick."
"No," you tell her, "it's better than scotch."
This piques Jennifer's curiosity. She steps aside so that you can come in. Her room isn't quite as dark as her wardrobe, but there are tons of creepy posters on the wall, most of them from horror films and deathcore bands.
"Alright, what do you got?" Jennifer closes the door behind you and leans against it with her arms crossed. "Tell me it's shrooms."
"No, but it could get you high. Or low."
"That's very Lewis Carroll. Did you get a hookah?"
"Let me ask you a question. Let's say you were Alice and you just fell down the rabbit hole. You look around and see the bottle that says, 'Drink Me.' Beside it there's that cake that says, 'Eat Me.' Which one are you gonna go for?"
Jennifer raises an eyebrow. "The bottle, obviously."
"Why is that obvious?"
"Because that's what she does in the book, right? If you don't do that then you can't go through the door and there's no story."
"Forget the story," you tell her. "Say it happened here."
"What, in my bedroom?"
"It doesn't matter where. Here, in the kitchen, out on the sidewalk. Which one would you choose and why?"
"I wouldn't touch any food I found on the sidewalk."
"Okay, fine, then here in the bedroom."
"I'd be pissed that people were bringing food in my room, first of all." You open your mouth but Jennifer holds out a hand before you can say anything. "Yeah, yeah, it's a hypothetical. I'd go for the…"
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