My younger sister, Chloe, strolled into my room without knocking, brushing her hair. She had a Starbucks drink in one hand and sunglasses perched on her head—inside the house, naturally. She always thought she was a celebrity.

“I need you to take me to the mall by noon,” she said flatly, like giving a servant a daily instruction.

“I can’t,” I said calmly, zipping my portfolio case. “My interview is at 12:30 downtown.”

She blinked, as if the words confused her. “No. Take me first. I told my friends I’d be there. You can just call your little interview people and push it.”

I stared at her, stunned. “You want me to cancel a job interview I waited months for, so you can go shop for makeup?”