Charlie stared at himself in the mirror, tilting his head like that might make him look cooler. Brown hair that refused to lie flat, hazel eyes that weren't green or brown—just somewhere in between—and skinny arms sticking out of his favorite yellow T-shirt. He sighed. At eight years old, he felt like the definition of ordinary. Even his blue Crocs, scuffed and worn, didn't help much.
He glanced around his room, which looked even smaller now with all the boxes stacked in every corner. The twin bed with its sagging blue quilt hadn't been packed yet, but everything else was disappearing—his clothes, his books, even the box of random rocks he'd collected from the backyard. They were moving to a bigger house today, one with more bedrooms and an actual backyard big enough for a trampoline. His mom and dad kept saying how great it would be, but Charlie wasn't so sure.
"Food's ready!" Gretchin's voice carried up the stairs, loud and sharp.
Charlie bolted out of his room, his Crocs slapping against the floor as he thundered down the stairs two at a time. He burst into the kitchen, relieved when he spotted the box of cereal on the counter. Gretchin stood by the sink, drying a plate, her red hair tied back in a ponytail. Her blue eyes were sharp and no-nonsense, like their mom's, though Charlie didn't think about that much. She was sixteen and bossy, which made her very annoying.
"Morning, Gretch'," Charlie said, grabbing a bowl. "See you stuck to dishwashing again. Thank God."
"Keep it up, Charlie," Gretchin muttered, tossing a dish towel at him. He ducked, laughing, as he poured cereal into his bowl. Then, with way too much milk, he plopped down at the table.
Amber shuffled in next, still half-asleep. At twelve, she was taller than Charlie, with braces that made her smile look metallic. Her brown hair was always neat, even when she'd just woken up, and her hazel eyes looked exactly like their dad's. She didn't say much, just grabbed a bowl and joined him at the table.
"Don't pour so much milk," Gretchin scolded. "You'll spill."
Charlie grinned at her, spooning cereal into his mouth. "Relax. It's moving day. No one cares."
"I care," Gretchin said, crossing her arms. "And Dad said we have to pack the kitchen before we leave for school. So eat fast."
Charlie groaned, slumping in his chair. "Why do we have to do it? Can't Dad just do it later?"
"Because he said so, genius," Gretchin snapped. "You think the kitchen's going to pack itself?"
Amber snorted into her cereal, but Charlie ignored her. Moving was already annoying enough without having to do chores before school. He scooped another spoonful of cereal, chewing loudly, as his mind wandered to the twins—his older half-brothers. They lived in Idaho and were eighteen now, which apparently meant Dad didn't have to send them money anymore. Child support, Gretchin had called it. Whatever that meant.
"They're not rich, are they?" Charlie asked suddenly, looking at Gretchin.
She rolled her eyes. "Who?"
"The twins," Charlie said, his voice muffled by cereal. "They're eighteen now, so they don't need money. Does that mean they're rich?"
Gretchin let out an exaggerated sigh. "No, Charlie, it doesn't mean they're rich. It means Dad doesn't have to send money to their mom anymore. That's why we can afford the new house."
"Oh." Charlie frowned, poking at his cereal. It still didn't seem fair. The twins got to live in Idaho and do whatever they wanted, and now he had to pack boxes before school. "But they're getting a house, right? A bigger one?"
"They're renting," Gretchin said flatly. "Not buying. They're not rich, they're just older."
Amber finally spoke up. "Why do you care, anyway? You're getting a bigger room at the new house. Isn't that enough?"
"It's not my room," Charlie muttered. "It's just a room in the new house. There's a difference."
Amber shook her head and went back to her cereal, while Gretchin grabbed the dish towel and tossed it over her shoulder.
"Eat faster," Gretchin said. "Dad's going to freak if the kitchen's not done by the time we leave."
Charlie sighed dramatically, slumping in his chair even more. Moving to a bigger house was supposed to be exciting, but so far, it was just work.