Chapter 2: The Room Test and Rachel's Tears

"Are you sure?" I turned to her, voice dead serious.

The question drew the room in tight, every pair of eyes on Rachel. Rachel hesitated, eyes red, and gave a soft "Yeah."

"No one forced you? Completely your own choice, you want to give me this room?" I pressed.

I made sure my words were gentle, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook with half-truths. She glanced at our parents, bit her lip, and still said, "No."

But I didn't let up. "And you won't regret it later?"

My voice softened. For a moment, I almost hoped she’d say yes and set herself free from all this awkward performance. She looked like she might cry, her face full of hurt, but forced herself to say, "I won't, but..."

Her voice wavered, the word "but" hanging in the air like the edge of a breaking wave. Her fingers twisted the cuff of her hoodie, knuckles white. But before she could finish, I turned to the Carter parents.

"And you two? As parents, are you sure—absolutely, definitely sure—you support Rachel's decision? If I really choose this room, you won't be upset about it, right?"

My gaze was steady, holding theirs with a challenge they couldn't sidestep. Put on the spot, the Carters could only force a smile: "We won't."

The tension was thick as I pushed my suitcase inside. "Good." I pushed my suitcase inside. "Then this will be my room from now on."

The Carters' faces immediately grew complicated.

Rachel burst into tears right then and there.

Her sobs echoed down the hallway, her shoulders shaking as she pressed her face into her hands. Mrs. Carter, distressed, tried to intervene: "Emily, Rachel is used to living here..."

But I had no intention of giving her a stage to perform. "I'm tired from the trip. If there's nothing else, I'd like to rest."

My voice was flat, final. The Carter family could only leave, looking as if they'd just swallowed something bitter.

Only Jason was left standing there, dumbfounded.

He hovered awkwardly by the doorway, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. "Still not leaving? What, want to help your only sister get her room back?"

I crossed my arms and looked at his face—so similar to mine.

For a second, it was like staring into a funhouse mirror: the same dark eyes, the same stubborn chin, but none of the shared memories. At my words, Rachel, who'd just left, stopped and turned, looking at Jason with hope.

But Jason just scratched his head, looking lost: "Uh, that's it?"

His confusion was almost endearing; the poor guy was way out of his depth. Only then did I realize his brain had crashed and he was still processing what just happened.

Looks like he's just plain clueless. I couldn't help but laugh.

But Jason, not knowing what I was thinking, immediately jumped up.

"Seriously, what’s your problem? I know what you’re trying to do! Trying to stir up trouble between me and Rachel? Are you saying she's just pretending?"

His voice was shrill, the words tumbling out like a kid on the playground who just got his sneakers stepped on. "But Rachel isn't the scheming, manipulative girl you think she is. She really wants to give you the room. Stop using your messed-up logic to guess at her motives."

I glanced at Rachel, whose face had gone pale at his words, and replied perfunctorily, "Yeah, yeah, you're right," while raising my foot to nudge him out.

I nudged him with my foot, just enough to get him moving—like shooing a stubborn puppy off the porch. He huffed, but didn’t resist, and the hallway was finally mine again.