“That thing isn’t staying,” I say, pointing to Phish. “I don’t have time to take care of it, Ella. Take it home with you.”
She faces me with a sly grin on her pouty lips. The front of her shirt is wet and sticking to her skin. “Don’t I live here now? Isn’t this our fish?”
“What?” my sister and Emerson question concurrently.
“Here we go,” Nicolette mumbles under her breath. She turns off the television.
“You’re moving in?” I ask. Anger melts away, leaving me lighthearted and unable to hold back a smile.
“Only if my fish can move in, too.”
“I love Phish,” I say”