When Max and Jameson leave for a fishing trip that they’ve had planned, I want to feel excited for them. I know they’ve been looking forward to it, but the selfish part of me wants him to stay.

Thankfully their first day gone is a Sister Sunday and we pile into Mindi’s minivan. I try to listen to the multiple conversations surrounding me, hearing names and giggles floating through the air, but I can’t fight the distraction of Max as I wonder what he’s doing.

“Ace, where are you?” I glance around and notice Jenny and Savannah both stare at me from the bench in front of me.

“On the ocean with Max,” Kendall teases quietly with a grin. “She’s got it bad.”

There’s a chorus of oohs from my sisters that makes my face blush as they assault me with questions and comments, and even a few suggestions about Max’s hotness and the Miller boys in general.

I glance out the window in confusion when the van pulls to a stop. Usually we go to the same Mexican restaurant every Sister Sunday before we head to a movie, or a pedicure, or some other girly activity, but we’re sitting outside of a building covered in spray paint that I honestly can’t recall ever having seen before.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking over to Savannah. She has a coy smile spread across her lips that tells me I don’t want to hear the answer.

I look to each of them, waiting for some sort of explanation, as I follow them up to the building, looking anxious and excited for whatever it is we’re about to do.

I watch as Mindi approaches the storefront. She’s more of a germaphobe than I am, so I’m expecting her to cringe and turn around and yell “joke,” or something that makes more sense than what she does, which is swings the dark-tinted door open and strolls inside, like this is somewhere she goes on a usual basis.

Kendall looks over her shoulder, eyeing me with a grin before following Mindi inside. My eyebrows knit together as my gaze roams around the exterior of the rundown building, searching for a store sign or some sort of clue as to our whereabouts.

“Come on,” Savannah says, gently shoving me in the direction of the door Jenny holds open with a guilty smile.

“Why do you guys all know what’s going on and I don’t?” I ask, walking through the door as I shoot Jenny a scowl. She’s the most likely to fold.

As soon as I cross the threshold, I don’t need a hint or explanation of our current whereabouts. It’s evident by the randomly placed, mismatched pictures in every shape and size that cover the walls. The décor and occupied chair in the corner tell me exactly where we are: a tattoo parlor.

“I’ll watch, but you guys know how I feel,” I say, shaking my head.

“We’re getting it together.” Savannah states.

“We?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “You guys decided for me what I’m going to get tattooed on my body?”

Jenny looks at me shyly, but Kendall grabs my wrist and faces me, her light blue eyes boring into mine. “You need to get over it, because it’s happening. You can choose where if you want.”

“Hey, wow, you weren’t kidding.” I look up to see a skinny man heavily covered in tattoos approaching us. My eyes skitter across his body, taking in the crazy amount of ink he sports and the several piercings that cover his ears, before looking to his face and watching him smile appreciatively at Mindi.

“Are you even supposed to get a tattoo while you’re pregnant?” I interrupt.

“Savannah and I will get ours once the babies are born,” Mindi explains without looking to me. “Ace, this is Scout. Ironic, I know. Scout this is Ace, Jenny, Savannah, and Kendall.” He nods to each of us with a grin that says he’s happy to see that we’re his next customers.

Scout leads us to a chair and eyes us. “So who’s going first?” he asks, griping the back of the chair.

“I am.” Jenny says, perching on the chair. He grabs some papers and a pattern from the counter beside him, and I realize that they’ve been planning this. They’re serious.

It’s not that I’m opposed to tattoos, in fact when I had turned eighteen, I’d marched into a tattoo parlor with Kendall to get one on the top of my foot. The artist had informed me how our hands and feet shed the most skin cells, and explained it would stretch and quickly fade, requiring constant upkeep and would eventually become much larger than the original tattoo. I didn’t really have a plan in mind to have a tattoo elsewhere, so I left and haven’t had the desire to go back since.

When Scout asks her where she wants to get hers done, Jenny extends her wrist. We all watch as he first scrubs it clean with alcohol and then transfers the design.

I crane my neck around Savannah to see what it is. “Are you kidding me?” I cry, “No way.” I shake my head, turning to leave.

“You said you wanted something symbolic, something that represents meaning,” Mindi objects.

“An infinity heart isn’t meaningful! I’m going to have a matching tattoo with the four of you, as well as four million strangers that couldn’t think of anything more creative themselves.”

Mindi looks sort of pissed. These days it’s tough to know how hard I can push her, but I don’t care, I don’t want this. “It’s so cliché! Come on.” I groan.

Apparently I pushed too hard, because the next thing I know Mindi starts crying. I apologize, feeling guilty, and somewhere in there agree to get this cliché symbol tattooed onto my body. Now I’m lying on my side with my arm stretched out over my head, wearing only my jeans and bra, which isn’t even fastened at the moment, as a needle repeatedly punctures the intensely sensitive skin covering my ribs while my free hand holds my bra cups securely in place.

“Is your name really Scout?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the stinging sensation.

“No. Is your name really Ace?”

I shake my head slightly before he glares at me, reminding me that I’m supposed to be lying perfectly still.

“Is that why she said ironic?” he asks.

“Ironic?”

“Your sister, when she introduced us, she said, ‘ironically this is Scout.’”

“Oh, no. I think it’s because my real name’s Harper.”

“Would it totally freak you out if I told you my name’s Lee?”

“You’re lying,” I deadpan. I watch a smirk spread across his face. I know he’s checked me out a couple of times, but I appreciate that he knows who Harper Lee is and give him a small allowance for it.

“You never know, it might be,” he says, not tearing his eyes from my side as he continues tracing the pattern. “How are you doing? You need a breather?”

This time I refrain from shaking my head as I vocalize a no.

“So this is your first ink?”

I confirm with a quiet yes.

“You chose a hell of a spot for your first tat, nothing like diving in the deep end.”

“It’s not so bad,” I lie, working to distract my mind so I don’t contort my face as he hits a particularly painful spot. Honestly it hurts like hell.

Before leaving, Scout asks that we pose for a picture. I hold my shirt and bra up, revealing my tattoo, beside Kendall, who has her back facing out, revealing the tattoo on the back of her right hip. Jenny has her arm extended, showing the small delicate work on the inside of her wrist. I have to hand it to Scout, for being a cliché symbol that I wasn’t looking forward to, he’s done an amazing job. They look feminine and delicate with skilled outlining and enough shading to make them artistic and beautiful. I still feel like it’s cliché, but I kind of love it.

“See ya, Harper!” Scout calls as we make our way outside.

“Later, Lee,” I say with a grin.

“No way! His name’s Lee?” Mindi cries out in shock. I just grin as I make my way back out to the minivan.