Chapter 5: The Notebook Test

The boy’s handwriting was neat and delicate, just like his clear, earnest eyes. It looked like he’d spent ages making sure each letter lined up perfectly, as if the page itself might be a test. The sincerity in that notebook made my chest ache a little.

The chat comments instantly swept across my vision:

[Ugh, the main guy is such a good kid! Auntie wants to give him a hug!]

[But why is he so nice to the supporting character? She’s obviously up to something. Now that no one’s around, she’ll probably mock him.]

[But honestly, the sister’s attitude didn’t really feel like that kind of person…]

[Upstairs, you’re sentenced to reread the book a hundred times!]

The comments started arguing, flashing so much my eyes hurt. I couldn’t help but frown. They argued louder than a pair of squirrels fighting over a single peanut, and for a second, I wished I could reach through and just hit mute on them all.

Caleb couldn’t see the chat comments, but when he saw my frown, he got flustered. His fingers tightened on the notebook until his knuckles turned white. After a moment, he lowered his eyes, let his hand fall limply, and hugged the notebook to his chest, getting ready to silently turn and leave. He looked smaller than ever, swallowed by the hallway’s darkness, half in light, half in shadow. The sadness in his shoulders was unmistakable.

But he’d only taken a couple steps before stopping—because I grabbed his sleeve. I hadn’t meant to, but I reached out, holding onto him before I could overthink it.

Caleb looked back, unable to hide the disappointment in his eyes. His gaze flickered with confusion, and for a second, I thought I saw hope trying to claw its way through.

I pressed my lips together. My heart squeezed a little, feeling like I was standing at the edge of a frozen lake, afraid to take the next step.

Truth be told, before transmigrating, I was an only child—no siblings, no experience being a sister. Originally, I thought we’d just mind our own business, but—Who could resist such a sweet, well-behaved little brother? His kindness was like a puppy’s—pure, unguarded, impossible to ignore.

I smiled, eyes curving, and started listing dishes: “I like barbecue ribs, garlic shrimp, green beans with potatoes, baked eggplant, crispy pork…” I rattled them off, one after another, remembering every childhood favorite, every summer picnic, every dish Grandma made with too much butter. Caleb’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like he’d just been asked to memorize the entire periodic table.

A string of food names tumbled out. The boy, already a little dazed, looked even more blank, but still managed to pick up his pen and start writing, as serious as if he were taking a test. He scribbled furiously, lips moving as he tried to keep up. I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

[Wait, the supporting character is really listing them! Why is this so funny, hahaha!]

[Main guy: Sis, slow down, my pen’s about to catch fire!]

[Haha, he’s totally stunned.]

[Isn’t this just another way to mess with the main guy, making him keep up?]

For once, the comments made me smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being his sister after all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him finish the last dish and was about to repeat it, when Caleb stopped writing, hugged the notebook like a treasure, and gave me a small smile. Then, as if remembering something, he opened the notebook again and started writing something else. He looked up at me, searching my face for approval, then ducked his head and added another line beneath the list. It was like watching a codebreaker at work.

I glanced at the now densely written list and suddenly remembered—As the main character, Caleb wasn’t just fine; he was actually above average in intelligence. This list of foods should be a piece of cake for him. I remembered how, in the original story, he’d once recited the periodic table backwards to win a spelling bee bet. This was nothing compared to that.

Thinking that, I relaxed. But just then, footsteps sounded at the corner of the upstairs hallway and Mom’s voice got closer. I heard her slippers scuffing the hardwood, and my pulse jumped. I quickly straightened my robe, hoping I didn’t look too suspicious.

“Caleb, what are you doing at your sister’s door?”

Her voice was sharp, a little too loud for the quiet house.

At her voice, Caleb was startled. The pen in his hand slipped and hit the ground with a sharp "thunk." The black pen rolled twice and stopped at my feet. He froze, looking as if he’d just been caught shoplifting.

I crouched down to pick it up for him, but he bent down at the same time.

"Ouch!"—our foreheads bumped together. The pain was sharp and sudden, and for a split second, we just stared at each other, wide-eyed.

I hissed in pain and landed on my butt. Seeing this, Caleb panicked and instinctively tried to help me up, but from an outsider’s view, it looked like he’d pushed me down. He stretched out his hand, then snatched it back, wringing his fingers in distress. I could tell he wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how.

At that moment, Mom had already hurried over. He shrank against the wall, shoulders hunched, like he wished he could disappear into the paint. I braced myself, heart pounding the way it did before report cards came out—hoping she’d get it was just a dumb accident.

I thought she’d side with Caleb, but to my surprise—Mom hurriedly helped me up, patted the dust from my pajama pants, and gently asked if I was hurt. Before I could answer, she turned to Caleb, her gaze a bit reproachful, her tone stern: “Caleb, I’ve spent so much effort on you. Your sister grew up with your grandparents and finally came home—even if you don’t like her, how could you lay a hand on her?” Her words landed heavy, as if she’d been waiting years to say them. I felt a knot twist in my stomach.

She instinctively assumed Caleb was afraid I’d steal the family’s affection now that I’d returned. It struck me how quickly even well-meaning parents could get things wrong, how easy it was to jump to the worst conclusions.

At the doorway, Caleb looked like he wanted to explain. He shook his head, but Mom’s expression was so serious: “Apologize to your sister! You can speak—you’re not mute!” The demand hung in the air, thick with disappointment. Caleb’s face drained of color, and his lips parted as if the words might finally come—but nothing did.

Hearing that, Caleb’s eyes dimmed. The more anxious he got, the less he could speak. He pressed the notebook against his chest, as if trying to hide behind it.

[Hmph, see? I told you this sister wasn’t a good person!]

[So sneaky at such a young age—what a fake. I actually thought she’d changed. I must’ve been blind.]

[Looks like this is when Mom started trusting the supporting character more. Ugh, such a powerless feeling—like my fists can’t reach through the screen!]

Just as the chat comments started going wild—A tension charged the hallway, like the static before a summer storm. The silence in the hallway pressed in, heavy as thunder. I opened my mouth to defend Caleb—but would anyone even listen?