My older brother and I always enjoyed tormenting our little sister--in a loving way of course--if only because she made it so easy. My mom used to call Emily "Me-too" because anything my brother and I had or did, she wanted, to be part of the boys or something. She didn't want to be left out. And if she was, she got mad!
So how could I resist the opportunity, when I was in middle school, to try and scare her the same way my brother and I would scare each other. You know, by jumping out from around corners? (Sound familiar?)
One Saturday morning, I heard my sister moving around in the bathroom and turn on the shower. She'd left her bedroom door open, and I noticed her bed was unmade. Breaking all sorts of house rules, I crept into her room and hid under the covers, trying to make myself inconspicuous.
A few minutes later, I heard the shower turn off. I clenched all my muscles, giddy with the anticipation of making her scream when I leapt out and surprised her. (I know, I was cruel, don't judge me.) Seconds later, the bathroom door opened, and I heard footsteps in the hallway. My sister walked purposely toward me, and didn't stop until she was standing right next to the bed. I knew I'd been caught--especially when she leaned over and started breathing on my face. I could feel it through the sheet. In the back of my mind, I wondered how she'd known I was there so quickly. I figured I didn't have anything to lose by whipping the sheets away and screaming, "Boo!"
No one was there.
In fact, I could still hear my sister moving around in the bathroom. The door was still closed.
Chills raced across my skin. I jumped out of the bed, realizing that even though I hadn't been caught by Emily, I'd certainly been caught by something.
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