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I didn’t recall making promises to help, though I suppose when you’re an enormous leviathan of a sports star, you can afford to have selective memory. Including using your family members like tools when needed. God, what did she even want? No-doubt something demeaning, like scrubbing the grit out of her shoes and socks, or worse, fanning her like royalty on her pedestal post-workout. I groaned, and stood up to answer, knowing it was easier not to argue when Mia was on the warpath.

            After the shock of this morning, I should’ve been prepared. But I wasn’t. Opening the door, I yet again revealed the towering visage of my sister, who’d shot up another solid four inches during the day, putting a full foot of space between the tops of our heads. Even worse, Mia was painted in a sheen of vigorous, glistening sweat across every part of her golden-tan body not covered by the jersey and those ass-hugging shorts. A cloud of athletic musk hung around my enormous sibling, infecting my room and the hallway with her sour stench.

            “C’mon, now, little brother. Do we really have to go through this whole shock-and-awe game every time you notice I’ve grown an inch or two?” Mia rested her arm on the door jamb and leaned in, making it abundantly clear how easy it was now for her to loom overhead of me. A drop of sweat slid down her neck into her cleavage. She wiped her skin and swatted the moisture away, spraying me in the face with several loose drops. Which I decided to ignore, in lieu of complaining and receiving a sarcastic response and a probably-intentional wipe of my face along her sweat-stained clothing.

            “What do you want?” I grunted.

            “Hey, there’s that generous spirit! It’s real simple. Now that I’m becoming a more important part of the team, Coach wants me to spend lots of time cooling off and relaxing after practice. That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get situated, and make sure my muscles can heal all the way, so I can crush it again this Friday.”

            I shrugged. How was this going to take two hours? Whatever; our parents would be home from work in an hour, and she could bother them instead. I just wanted her to leave me alone, so I nodded. Clapping excitedly, my six-foot-eight behemoth of a sister led the way down the stairs with a spring in her step. Meanwhile I followed, dragging my feet, and trying to cover my nose as I was treated to the trailing mist cloud of volleyball grunge from Mia’s hair, pits, and abdomen.

            In the living room, Mia had turned the couch facing the flat screen TV into her personal throne. Towels were laid on the cushions to sop up her sweat, a tall glass of ice water rested on the arm, and a full bag of Mexican fast food was crumpled on the coffee table.

            “Okay, so what is it, so I can get it over with and go back upstairs?”
            “Listen to you, Hal, still always in a big hurry. Personally, I find things happen best when you take your time, and stop to smell the roses. Or smell other things too, if you want.”

            If I was about to sit here for two hours and listen to my sister insinuate the oppressiveness of her own flatulence, it would be a short favor. I walked toward the couch.

            “Whatever. Am I supposed to get you a bag of ice, or something?”

            “No, no. I can get my own ice. I have a much better use for you. Something a bag of ice just won’t do. In fact, nobody can do this as well as you.”

            “Yeah?”

            “These couch cushions… well, they’re awful lumpy. Even with the towels. And Coach is really making a BIG deal out of me being completely comfortable, and using something more rigid after scrimmage,” Mia explained academically. I didn’t notice until it was too late, but she’d managed to impose herself in the room by the doorway, ensuring the only way to escape was through her. “So, that’s going to be you, Hal. I need to sit on you for a couple hours, maybe every day now after practice, while I relax.”

            My sister said this absurd thing with such conviction that it took me a second to register just how crazy her massive growth spurts were making her. My skin crawled. My nose instinctively wrinkled, already imagining what intimate proximity to my sweat-drenched sister would do to my senses. I eyeballed the couch, then my humongous sibling, and made a run for it.

            I didn’t get past Mia’s hip. Like a game of amateur red rover, my sister caught me with hardly a wobble in her stance; I hadn’t even managed to knock her off balance with all my charging strength. All too easily, my sister had me trapped in a headlock under her damp armpit, her toned arm coiled around my neck with such tension I became convinced in that moment that my little sister was actually capable of snapping my vertebrae with a well-timed swing of her elbow. As predicted, I was as revolted by the stench as I was wearily humbled by Mia’s muscular schoolyard hold.

            My sister didn’t speak; she only marched, dragging me along in reverse. Her confident footfalls launched us toward the couch, and I was helpless to reverse the direction. Even wrapping both my arms around Mia’s nearest thigh, upon embracing the taut quadriceps in effort to slow her progress, I met only rock-hard volleyball musculature. And I knew that I was going to become my sister’s cushion, whether I wanted it or not.

            “Mia, STOP IT!” I scowled. I sounded like a petulant child.

            “Quit fussing,” she instructed, almost sweetly. “This’ll be more comfortable for both of us if you just settle down and get used to it.”

            I was thrown like a stuffed animal on the couch. Quickly as I righted myself, Mia’s wide reach corralled me against the pillows, and suddenly her back was turned over my prone form. My sister’s tight caboose, sculpted by countless mile-sprints and barbell squats, loomed above my face, and came crashing down.

            “MIA!”

            Those twin cheeks, encased in moist cotton shorts, spread equally over my head and upper back. I was astounded at just how much of my six-foot-eight giant sibling’s butt could cover of my relatively frail body. Equally surprising was the sheer impossibility of throwing her off of me; I had managed it after her first growth, when she cornered me in my bed for an up-close measurement, but right now, I had an immovable mountain of a teen squashing me down. And there didn’t appear to be anything I could do about it.

            “Sorry, bro. You’re not going anywhere. So you might as well hold still, or you’ll only tucker yourself out.”

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