Standing in the middle of the unnecessarily large kitchen, Charlotte watched Lorraine and tried to form more conclusions about her sister. She had figured out a while ago that Lorraine was spoiled, but she could not yet decide if Lorraine was generally smart of stupid. Some conversations they had in the past few days made Charlotte favor the former notion, but currently, she was doubting Lorraine's intelligence... or rather, she corrected herself, Lorraine's level of general knowledge, because Lorraine was busy hitting Charlotte with a kitchen towel as if she didn't know better.

"It doesn't hurt the slightest bit, you know," the older sister noticed as the younger sister continued to waste her morning energy.

"Yes. It. Does," Lorraine screamed back in fury, accompanying each word by another useless blow.

"Nope, it doesn't at all. If you wanted to make it hurt someone, you could've used a jump rope," Charlotte sighed, remembering the bruises she sometimes got after unsuccessfully trying a new skipping technique over and over again.

"I'd have to look for one," Lorraine said moodily and lowered the towel.

"Very well," Charlotte thought to herself sarcastically. "Aunt Joanne” (she still couldn’t bring herself to think of the lady as her mom) “asked me to make sure Lorraine can live independently, but most importantly, make her start to read books. And all I've done so far was teach her to inflict pain."

Charlotte lifted her head up high. She had to keep on playing her part no matter what. All she needed was a way to show that everything was going according to her plan.

“Well, you now know how to defend yourself if someone breaks into the house while you’re all alone,” she told Lorraine. “But of course, you should first try calling the police, running away, or hiding.”

Having mentally complimented herself on being such an inventive young woman, Charlotte clapped her hands and proceeded with Lorraine’s education.

“Safety covered, let’s now move to cooking. What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

Lorraine, however, ran out into the hall and closed the white kitchen door in front of Charlotte’s face. Charlotte twisted the shiny knob and pushed the door, only to realize that Lorraine was pushing it back from the other side. 

Continuing to push the door slightly (she wanted to make sure that Lorraine was holding her off rather than running away), Charlotte suddenly understood that with her sister’s current attitude, there was no way she would teach Lorraine any chores, leave alone making her read. She thus employed the most effective and refined tool she possessed: chatter.

“Lorraine, can you please say what exactly you have against cooking breakfast?” She then remembered that the conflict began a bit earlier than that. “Or against me in general?”

As the accusations were coming at her from behind the white door with a shiny handle, Charlotte started picturing herself in the role of the pirate leader from Eugene’s favorite book Treasure Island. When his subordinates were thinking of having a revolt, he too asked them for accusations and then squashed his crew with astonishing answers. She interrupted her thought midway, remembering that Lorraine was supposed to be not her enemy, but instead her friend, and that her plan was to help Lorraine, not crush her.

“Thank you,” Charlotte replied sincerely after Lorraine quieted down. “Thank you for honestly sharing all your thoughts. I guess I’ll be honest with you too, then.” She actually doubted that the highly exaggerated accusations were how Lorraine actually felt about her, but if Lorraine was lying, Charlotte knew she put shame on her sister by trusting that Lorraine was honest.

And then, chasing away the doubts regarding the moral side behind retelling the private conversation she had with their mom yesterday, Charlotte confessed that one of her goals was to arouse Lorraine’s interest in literature.

“Mom was really, really tired when she asked me to do all that, so I agreed, of course. And I agree with her on both the fact that you should learn the housekeeping tips from me and start to read more. I’m sorry, but I do think you are very spoiled for your age, hardly having handled a stove or a book.” Charlotte said that last phrase in fear of Lorraine’s comeback, but it had to be said after Charlotte’s decision to be absolutely honest. Lorraine sniffed angrily but remained where she was to listen. “So what if we did it the following way: you’ll try your best while we get through our daily chores, and I’ll tell you about all the moments where books dragged me into real-life adventures.”

“Hmph,” was all Charlotte heard from behind the white door.

Charlotte’s mind was racing. There had to be something that could make Lorraine return to the kitchen. She quickly recalled everything that Lorraine shared in her angry little speech and found what she was looking for.

“And what if I first tell you everything about the fight, the pictures, and the end to Margaret’s rumors?” Charlotte suggested with a sly smile. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to hear it.”

“And why are you so sure about that?” Lorraine asked, unable to hide slight fear from her voice.

“Be more careful with your words next time. You referred to Blake as ‘a guy in one flip flop’, and you wouldn’t have seen him lose it if you hadn’t seen the fight with your own eyes.”

Nothing but silence came from behind the door. Charlotte quickly corrected the implied accusation with flattery.

“Whichever way you managed to catch a glimpse of the fight, I’m not disappointed with you for watching it,” Charlotte said. “In fact, I’m impressed you found a way to be an unnoticed witness. So come out, and I’ll tell you all you want to know about it and even more.”

The shiny knob turned, and the door was lazily opened. Lorraine took her time as she entered the kitchen.

“Deal?” Charlotte asked happily, extending her hand.

Lorraine rolled her eyes (“What an actress,” Charlotte thought) but squeezed Charlotte’s hand in her little palm.

“Deal,” said the younger sister with a dramatic sigh.

Charlotte noticed with satisfaction that in anticipation of the story, Lorraine refrained from any comments as she searched the fridge, contentedly extracted an old pack of cottage cheese, and announced her decision to fry it.