So what if I did want to murder it? What if it did make a unique flavor of anger rise up in my stomach, to think of this stupid f*****g fruit causing Ariel so much as a millisecond of discomfort? Who the hell cares?
Jasmine reaches over to scoop it up and toss it back and forth between her hands. “She loves peaches, actually. Question for you: Is it a hair color thing? ‘Cause she’s really more auburn than peachy. Or is it more like a symbol? Like, she’s a forbidden fruit, Garden of Eden-style?” Her nose wrinkles up. “Just don’t tell me it’s a s*x thing. Turns out you never really outgrow the ick factor of imagining your siblings getting after it.”
“It’s just a fruit.” I don’t look up at her.
“Right. Right. Of course it is.”
“Look, if you’re here to rile me up—”
“Actually, I’m here be
