“Chapter3 As soon as I open the front door of the apartment, Twinkie jumps out from the corner. That’s the game we play every day. “Hey, Twinkie!” I say to my favorite sister, who is nine years old. Her real name is Rita, but we call her Twinkie, because she has blond fuzzy hair, and fat, yummy cheeks. “Don’t call me Twinkie anymore!” she announces to me, shuffling the deck of Pokémon cards she has in her hands. Twinkie grabs my hand, and pulls me down the hallway to the kitchen. Everybody else ...has eaten already, but Mrs. Bosco always puts my food in the oven, covered in a piece of tinfoil. All the kids know they’d better not touch it, either. “I have to whisper something in your ear,” Twinkie says, pulling me down so she can reach. “Okay,” I say, hugging her real tight. Twinkie has lived with us for nineteen months, and we are really close—she will always be my sister forever, no matter what. “You have to call me Butterfly now,” Twinkie tells me, and her blue eyes get very big, like saucers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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