Little Sis

Sophia sat on the bed half-dressed, mascara wand frozen in the air, staring at her own eyes like they might hand her answers. The words just dropped out before she could catch them. “I think I like girls.” Carter froze with her hand on the lip gloss tube. For half a second the only sound was the cheap bathroom bulb buzzing overhead. Then Carter smiled slow, low, hungry. Not the polite kind. The hungry kind you kept hidden until a door locked. She pushed the gloss back onto the counter, crossed the tiny room, and perched on the edge of the mattress so her bare thigh pressed warm against Sophia’s. “Details,” she said. Simple. Sharp. Sophia’s chest heaved once and she spilled everything—how the other girl had cornered her in the theater hallway, slid one thigh between hers, whispered what she wanted. Carter’s knuckles grazed the inside of her little sister’s wrist, testing pulse. Right then the air shifted. The sister-to-sister makeup night turned into something different. Carter tilted Sophia’s chin up. “You nervous?” she asked, thumb stroking her bottom lip. “Good. Means you want it.” She let the pause stretch like smoke. “Want me to show you?” Sophia nodded too fast. Carter’s other hand slid up the shorter girl’s leg, past the hem of her slip, until fingertips found soft heat. She brushed, then pressed, eyes locked on Sophia’s face to catch every flicker. “Say it,” Carter breathed. Sophia’s whisper shook but the words came out anyway: “Teach me.” Carter’s fingers circled, slow and sure, and the room narrowed to nothing but breath, skin, and the wet, steady beat of instructions that wouldn’t end until morning.