The Winner's Game(5)

“Oh, I’m telling Mom and Dad!” he shouts as he finally puts two and two together. “You’re being sneaky.”

“I’m not being sneaky. I’m bored. But you’re too young to understand.” I know he hates being painted as young and dumb, but sometimes I just like to get a rise out of him.

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s true. Bored people sometimes do things that might be mistaken as sneaky, even if they’re totally not. Heck, I wouldn’t have even bothered getting the mail if I wasn’t bored out of my mind for like the millionth day in a row.” I pause and smile. “It’s because of you, Cade. Babysitting you is boring. You drove me to this.”

“Shut up,” he says again. “I’m not a baby and you’re not my babysitter.” He motions to the letter in my hand. “Just open it already.”

The letter is from the school district, addressed to the parents of Ann Bennett. It came in the mail with a stack of medical bills that my parents will likely request to defer, since they’re already overdue on others.

I slide the knife beneath the envelope’s seal and gently peel it open.

Then I read it and groan. “You’ve got to be kidding! Why does she have to get all of the attention?”

“What does it say?”

I clear my throat so I can read it in the snootiest voice possible, ’cuz that’s how it sounds in my head. “Listen to this: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bennett. We are pleased to inform you that Ann has been selected as Student of the Year. We realize that she has faced substantial adversity throughout the school year, which only magnifies the significance of her accomplishments. It is no small feat that she has been able to maintain perfect grades during both semesters while working independently from home. We believe her success is a reflection of her dedication and commitment to education…Blah, blah, blah. We hope you are able to attend a year-end banquet, where she will be honored…Blah, blah, blah.” I slap the letter on the counter, just to make sure he knows how upset I am. “Can you believe that? The whole education system is screwed up. She didn’t even attend school, and they made her the Student of the Year! I got good grades too, you know! Mostly. Heck, I should get an award just for putting up with her all the time. Right?”

“I guess.”

“It’s so unfair. Just because she’s sick, she get’s everything handed to her. Ugh. I hate her.”

“You do?”

“Yes!” I pause, then back off. “Well, maybe not ‘hate.’ But not ‘like,’ that’s for sure.”

Do I have to like my sister? I mean, I think I love her—not out loud or anything, but inside. Isn’t that enough? Do I have to like her too? I bet I’d like her a lot more if her health problems didn’t overshadow everything I do!

My life is a solar eclipse.

I neatly fold up the paper, shove it back in the envelope, and reseal the flap. Part of me hopes she’ll notice it was tampered with so I don’t have to pretend to be surprised and happy for her when she announces the good news.

A few hours later, Ann comes home from the hospital wearing brand-new, fluffy, pink designer slippers. My best friend, who is lucky enough to be an only child, has the same exact pair in blue that I’ve been drooling over. I can’t help but howl when I see them on Ann’s feet. “Mom, I showed you those slippers at the mall just last week! I said they would make a nice present, but I didn’t mean for her.” Redirecting my frustration to the recipient of my parents’ generosity, I add, “Unbelievable. Every time you go to the doctor, you come home with something new. And what do I get? Stuck babysitting, that’s what! Totes lame! I hardly even get to see my friends anymore because I’m always stuck at home with Cade!”

“Oh, excuse me for being born with a crappy heart,” replies Ann, her face heating up. “Maybe you’ll feel better after I die.”

“Girls!” snaps Mom. “That’s enough. And Ann, you’re not going to die. You’re going to get a new heart, so don’t say that.”

Dad is carrying Ann’s backpack so she won’t have to lift it on her own. No surprise there; she never has to lift a finger. While setting it down on the counter he gives me “the glare.” “Remember what I said last night, young lady? Peace and quiet. No arguing, period. Especially with Ann.”

I deliberately roll my eyes. Interestingly, so does Ann. “I don’t live in a bubble,” she tells him. “If Bree wants to express herself, I don’t have a problem with that. I’d rather know how she really feels than have her walking on eggshells.”