”“Fuck you! Stop treating me like a kid.”“I don’t want to waste the night when you chicken out.”“For the last time, I’m not going to b...ck down.”Back down from what? Why was she fighting so hard to do something when she wasn’t sure what it was? What she would have to do?“Okay. I’ll take you.”She started to jump up and down.“On two conditions. You do everything I say that night.”“Okay.”“And if you chicken out, I get your iPhone.”This stopped her. She had an eleven. Brother had a seven. If she. “I didn't get a good night sleep,” Stan would say. Or, “Sorry, Ana, my knee's hurting.” And for a few weeks I would drop the subject, and then start nagging him all over again and we'd start the cycle all over. It wasn't fair. Stan expect me to keep in good shape, the least he could do was return the favor. Age was starting to catch up to Stan. He just turned thirty-one, and his metabolism was losing the war against the junk food I know he eats at work. He didn't get any junk food at home, only. More

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