He forced it again, then looked back at Brooke. She stormed up the steps, grabbed the key from his hand, and pushed it into the lock herself. The new deadbolt stayed firm.
From inside, I heard the faint rattling.
Then my phone started ringing.
I let it go to voicemail.
Brooke called again, then my mother, then my father. At last, Brooke banged on the door with the side of her fist.
“Jenna, open the door,” she shouted. “The movers are here.”
I opened the door only as far as the security chain allowed, though that had already been replaced too.
Brooke stared at me through the opening. “Why doesn’t the key work?”
“Because it was never your key.”
My mother pressed closer behind her. “Jenna, this is humiliating. The neighbors are watching.”
“They should,” I said. “It might stop you from lying about why you’re here.”
My father stepped onto the porch, his face red with anger. “Enough. Your sister gave notice at her apartment because you said she could come.”
“I never said that.”
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