An attempt at giving him more depth, since he didn't have much in the book. And yes, I still like children's stories.
Probably not my best.
Michael Wormwood wasn't quite sure if he loved his sister.
He didn't hate her, that much he knew. But that was it. His affection didn't seem to extend further than neutrality.
They never fought like other siblings. Then again, they never seemed to share more than two sentences with each other. Both of them were in their own worlds, none of them bothering to interfere with the other. They had always been content that way.
He didn't know much about her, aside from a few things. His family knew that she liked books more than the television. But one thing he knew, was that she was smarter than his parents said she was.
Michael might not be the most clever boy around, but he could put two and two together. He noticed, after Matilda was left behind when they left for Spain, the lack of the odd events. No ghosts, no superglued hats, no dyed hair. All that, couldn't have been a coincidence.
She was still the odd one out, though. But he never hated her.
He still cared enough to wave goodbye, after all.