My Crush’s Sister Shattered My Phone — And It Was A Secret Test

Part 1

I accepted pretty early into my senior year that I would probably graduate without ever having a real relationship.

I definitely was not ugly, but I lacked any sort of natural charm when it came to talking to girls.

Every conversation I attempted usually ended with me staring at the floor and making a quick exit.

That was why my ongoing texting streak with Megan felt like a complete miracle.

We had been passing messages back and forth for months.

I kept expecting her to get bored of my awkward jokes and leave me on read.

She never did.

Earlier today in biology class, she slid a folded piece of notebook paper across my desk.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I carefully unfolded it.

The handwriting was neat and blue, simply telling me to meet her at her house right after school.

My pulse deafened me.

I completely stopped paying attention to the lecture about cellular mitosis.

The only thing on my mind was the fact that the girl of my dreams actually wanted to hang out with me in person.

I was genuinely terrified it might be some kind of elaborate prank.

Sprinting home the moment the final bell rang, I felt a mix of absolute panic and pure excitement.

Twenty minutes were wasted agonizing in front of my closet before I finally settled on some clean gray sweatpants and a fresh black hoodie.

After checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror at least five times, I finally grabbed my heavy backpack.

The four-block walk to her neighborhood felt like a terrifying march toward my own execution.

My palms were sweating so profusely by the time I stepped onto her porch that I had to wipe them dry on my thighs.

Gathering every ounce of courage I possessed, I raised my trembling fist and knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.

The lock clicked almost immediately.

I stood up straighter and forced a smile onto my face.

But the person standing in the doorway was absolutely not Megan.

Instead, an eleven-year-old girl glared up at me.

She was wearing a massive oversized cardigan that draped all the way down to her knees.

Her feet were shoved into a pair of black high heels that were easily three sizes too big.

Bright, badly applied pink lip gloss covered her mouth.

Her hair was pulled up into the exact same messy bun that Megan always wore.

I stared at her in complete silence, struggling to process the visual information.

She smiled at me widely and greeted me by name like we had known each other for years.

My brain completely short-circuited.

I glanced past her shoulder, expecting Megan to jump out and laugh.

The hallway behind her remained entirely empty.

She confidently introduced herself as Megan and stepped aside to let me in.

My legs somehow moved forward into the living room before my mind could tell them to stop.

The house was quiet and still.

This child stomped in her oversized heels over to the couch and sat down across from me.

She immediately started talking about our biology class and the texts we had exchanged last night.

Rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand, I gently asked her where her older sister was hiding.

Her expression instantly morphed into pure rage as she screamed at the top of her lungs that she did not have a sister.

Shouting her fake identity again, the little girl angrily demanded to know why I was acting so weird.

Staring blankly at her flushed face, a small part of me desperately wanted to turn around and run back out the front door.

Terrified of ruining my chances with the real Megan if I just bailed, I awkwardly lowered myself onto the edge of an armchair instead.

The mysterious child suddenly announced she was hungry.

I unzipped my backpack and pulled out an untouched turkey sandwich from my lunch.

I held it out to her as a peace offering.

She snatched it from my hand and took a massive bite.

Her face immediately contorted in disgust.

She violently hurled the sandwich directly at my chest.

Turkey slices and bread crumbs scattered all over my clean gray sweats.

I brushed the mayonnaise off my hoodie in stunned silence.

I let out a soft, confused chuckle because my brain simply could not compute the situation.

I stood up and pretended to look for the bathroom, hoping to find her parents.

The house was completely deserted.

When I walked back into the living room, everything escalated instantly.

She lunged across the coffee table and snatched my phone.

I reached out instinctively, but her little hands were much faster.

She raised it high above her head and slammed it onto the hardwood floor.

Then she lifted her oversized heel and stomped directly onto the screen.

A loud crack echoed through the quiet room.

My stomach plummeted into my shoes.

That phone represented six grueling months of working the fryer at McDonald’s.

Every photo, every contact, and every text I had ever saved was on that device.

She stood there with her arms crossed, waiting.

Her eyes bore into mine as she watched for my reaction.

She clearly expected me to lose my temper and scream at her.

I slowly knelt down and picked up the shattered pieces of plastic and glass.

I took a long, shaky breath to steady my racing heart.

I looked up at her, feeling more exhausted than angry.

I quietly asked her why she felt the need to do that.

She scoffed and told me I could leave if I was going to cry about it.

I opened my mouth to tell her I knew exactly who she was.

That was when the front door swung wide open, and the real Megan finally stepped inside.