Then I Met My Sister by Christine Hurley Deriso

Gibs. I start counting polka dots on the blouse of a plump lady in front of me. Thank heaven we came toward the end of the meeting.
    “You voluntarily come and listen to this stuff?” I whisper to Gibs, who shushes me with a stern expression.
    “The metaphor that runs throughout my short story is fire,” says Polka Dot Lady.
    People nod earnestly.
    “Maybe you can read your story at the next meeting,” Grocery Store Manager offers congenially, and Polka Dot Lady seems excited at the prospect, though she blushes and explains that it’s not quite finished yet.
    “This place is death,” I whisper to Gibs.
    He looks stern again, but thankfully, Grocery Store Manager seems to be wrapping things up.
    “As you know, we always like to adjourn with a tip of the day,” he says, and I’m so excited by the word adjourn that I almost burst into spontaneous applause. “Today’s tip concerns writers’ block. If you’re stuck—and who among us hasn’t been—stop what you’re doing, go turn the television on, watch it for fifteen minutes, then incorporate something from what you’ve seen into your story. Even if you edit or delete it later, the challenge should get the creative juices flowing.”
    “Why not hurl your TV set through your neighbor’s window, watch his reaction, then incorporate that into your story?” I murmur to Gibs. He closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly.
    People rise from their seats, make small talk, and start filing out of the room.
    “That’s him,” Gibs says, nodding toward a trim guy in jeans who looks youthful despite his close-cropped gray hair.
    As Mr. Kibbits makes his way toward the door, he spots Gibs and smiles.
    “Ah, Gibson! Glad you could join us today.”
    He extends a hand and Gibs shakes it. “Thanks. Um … this is my friend, Summer.”
    Mr. Kibbits pivots toward me and shakes my hand.
    “Hi,” he says. “I’ve seen you around school. You’re a rising senior, like Gibson, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Are you taking AP English Comp next year?” he asks me.
    I glance away. “Honors courses aren’t really my thing.”
    His blue-gray eyes twinkle. “And what might your thing be?”
    “That’s what my mom wants to know,” I say gamely, tucking a lock of blond hair behind my ear. “Can I check back with the two of you after I’ve figured it out?”
    Mr. Kibbits chuckles as Gibs leans closer. “Can Summer have a minute of your time?” Gibs asks him.
    Mr. Kibbits spreads out his hands. “Does this qualify?” he asks cheerfully.
    “She wants to discuss something with you privately,” Gibs explains in a lowered voice.
    Mr. Kibbits smiles at me. “Care to have a seat?”
    He motions toward a chair. I sit down and he sits next to me. Gibs offers a quick wave. “I’ll be … checking out some books,” he says, then walks out of the room with his dark ponytail bouncing lightly behind him.
    I get right to the point. “I think you knew my sister. Shannon Stetson.”
    He smiles. “Correct.”
    I peer closer at him. “So you remember her?”
    He nods. “Very vividly. She was a memorable person.”
    “And you know she was my sister?”
    Mr. Kibbits nods again. “Chapel Heights is a pretty small town. Lots of people remember Shannon. Word circulated quickly when you started high school. The teachers who were there when Shannon was in school … we kind of compare and contrast.”
    “Right … ” I say. Damn. Shannon’s shadow follows me everywhere I go. At least the teachers are subtle about it. Most of them, anyway.
    “I don’t mean to make you self-conscious,” Mr. Kibbits says gently. “Everything I’ve ever said, or ever heard said, was highly complimentary of both of you.”
    I swallow hard. “My aunt just gave me a journal Shannon kept the summer before she died,” I say quickly. My eyes look away, then dart back to catch Mr. Kibbits’ reaction. He still has the same pleasant, placid expression pasted on his face.
    “I just started reading