more years until she turned eighteen and could live an independent life.
Sometimes, when something is so right, you just know. You know?” Bree said.
“Mm-hmm,” said her mom, without turning her attention away from the stove.
“And I know that if Taylor Swift and I could meet, we would be best friends.”
“That sounds great, sweetie,” her mom said, placing all her focus on flipping a blueberry pancake.
“What do you think, Taylor?” Bree asked, scooping up their tabby cat and burrowing her face in her soft squash-coloured fur. Bree loved the cat so much, almost as much as the real Taylor Swift. She was a really nice cat and probably Bree’s favourite family member. She only scratched Bree sometimes.
“No, Taylor! Choc-it Puddin’!” corrected Bree’s two-year-old half sister, Olivia. Their parents had let Olivia name the cat and she chose to call it Chocolate Pudding. But the cat was orange and chocolate pudding is brown, and that name made no sense. So Bree unofficially changed it to Taylor.
Bree’s mom loved to remind her that Bree had named their previous pet, a sunfish named Belieber. But Belieber died, along with Bree’s love for Bieber the year he got all those tattoos. Plus, everyone knows that naming a cat is a much bigger deal than naming a fish. You couldn’t even hug a fish.
“Choc-it Puddin’! Choc-it Puddin’!” chanted Olivia, kicking her feet against her booster chair and banging her plastic toddler spoon on the table.
The cat made a perturbed meow and leaped from Bree’s arms. Sure enough, it left a scratch. Maybe the cat sensed that no matter what, she would always be second to the real Taylor. Animals were psychic like that.
“What’s going on in here?” asked Ariana, sailing into the room in a long, floral dress. It had tiny spaghetti straps and fell almost all the way to the floor. The sheer fabric shifted in the breeze as she walked.
Ariana was seventeen and a senior in high school. She was Bree’s stepdad Marc’s oldest daughter, so she and Bree weren’t actually related. Bree often thought if she couldn’t grow up to be Taylor Swift, then she would want to be just like Ariana. Sometimes when Ariana went out, Bree stole her clothes and pretended to be her.
“I was just talking about how if Taylor Swift and I were to meet in real life, we would totally hit it off,” Bree said.
Ariana rummaged around in the cabinet until she unearthed an energy bar. “Ugh. Thank god, I thought we were out of these!” she said. With that, she pivoted on one sandalled foot and floated out of the room.
“Is that all you’re eating for breakfast?” called Bree’s mom, but Ariana was already gone.
“So everyone. It’s almost my birthday!” Bree announced. “That means we should probably start planning the annual birthday party. Mom, you said we could make it extra special this year, right? Because I’m becoming a teenager.”
“Of course,” her mom replied absentmindedly.
“Yesssssss, pancakes!” exclaimed Bailey, Bree’s nine-year-old brother, who actually bounced into the room. When Bree’s hair was a little shorter, people used to mistake them for twins, which was weird because he was three years younger than Bree. And also, because he’s a boy.
Her five-year-old half sister, Emma, followed close behind him. She was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and matching leggings printed with multi-coloured donuts. Her clothes were way cooler than Bree’s when she was in kindergarten.
“Charlotte Price had Drake perform at her bat mitzvah. Can you believe that?” Bree said, slightly louder now that all of her little siblings were in the kitchen. Still, zero family members were willing to share whether they did or did not believe it. “I was thinking, maybe Taylor Swift could perform at my birthday party.” Silence. “I think she would totally do it, because we are basically the same person.” More silence. “Does anyone want to hear why Taylor Swift and I would definitely be best friends?” Bree asked. Again, no one answered – Emma began counting by twos, Bailey drummed on the table, and Olivia continued to contribute absolutely nothing useful – but no one objected, either, so Bree just kept talking. “Reason one: cats. We both love cats. And Taylor the person would probably love to meet Taylor the cat.”
“PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’!” Olivia shouted.
“Reason two: we both love to be on stage. Taylor’s favourite things are obviously music and singing and dancing and performing and I love those things, too.”
“Everybody,” said Emma, “I can sing all fifty states in alphabetical order. Ready?”
Their mom came to the table with a stack of pancakes and deposited one on each of the plates in front of Bree, Bailey, Emma, and Olivia. Bailey immediately covered his entire plate with syrup, while Olivia hacked her pancake to bits with her spoon.
“Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas. California, Colorado, Connecticut!” sang Emma, spreading her arms wide like an opera singer.
“Reason three!” Bree was talking even louder now so everyone could hear her over Emma. “Well, this might be kind of embarrassing, but you know how Taylor has had a lot of boyfriends? Well, I’ve liked a ton of different boys this year. I mean, I guess none of them have really technically been my boyfriend or anything, but I think Taylor and I both have really high standards and it can be super hard to find somebody who’s totally worthy, you know?”
A blueberry sailed out of nowhere and hit Bree in the face. Olivia giggled.
“Bree, my love, don’t throw food,” chided her mom.
“But I –” Bree started.
“Is everyone’s lunch packed?” her mom asked.
“I didn’t throw –” she tried again.
“The lunches are all lined up by the door already!” said her stepdad, zooming into, and immediately out of, the room. Marc was wearing his usual uniform of an expensive lawyerly suit, his short brown hair brushed neatly to one side. Though he spent most of his days in an office, Marc was always tanned from a regular routine of weekend surfing, and left a trail of cologne in his wake. He wore so much of it, in fact, that when the tooth fairy left money under any of their pillows, the bills reeked of Marc’s cologne.
“Mom, Olivia threw it,” Bree said loudly.
“CHOC-IT CHOC-IT PUDDDDIIIIIINNNNN’!!!!!”
“What’s that, Olivia?” Mom scooped Olivia up and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, you named the cat! You picked such a good name!”
Sometimes Bree secretly wished they could trade Olivia for another cat. They could even name the new cat Olivia. Bree wouldn’t mind.
“Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island!” sang Emma, putting on her emoji-print backpack and skipping away.
“Dishes in the sink,
