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“I do not try to dance better than anyone else.I only try to dance better than myself.”—Mikhail Baryshnikov
Instead of requestingjoint custody of us, our parents had split custody.That meant I spent the majority of my time with Dad, while Evie only visited him every other weekend.Mom claimed she was too young to be with a man who traveled all the time.
Some days I loved the arrangements, while others, I hated it.
It meant more time with Miranda, who was fun, but it also meant not seeing Mom often.She requested to have me with her only one week a month.I heard Dad tell Miranda it was my mother’s choice.I wondered why Mom hated me or if Dad would kick me out of the house when a new baby arrived.
Each night, I prayed into the darkness, pleading that he and Miranda never had a child together.Because if they did, they would disrupt the fragile ecosystem where I lived the way Evelyn had done it.This time, I wasn’t competing against Evie, but my imagination.Yet, I was slowly planning a way to settle the score with my sister.After all, she destroyed our family.
It was difficult to find something when we barely saw each other.But I knew I would eventually find a way.I just had to be patient.
Evelyn was seven the first time I heard Mom say, “No, Evie, you can’t eat cake.It has carbs.Carbs are your enemy.”
It had seemed innocent, akin to the familiar warnings: no candy before dinner, junk food is bad for your body, or ice cream isn’t a meal.I didn’t pay too much attention to it, until my father’s birthday.
After his party, Miranda and Dad dropped us at Mom’s.They were going out for the week to continue celebrating, and I had to stay with my mother.When we arrived, Mom made Evie tell her everything she ate.
“Carrot sticks, celery, chicken nuggets with no breading, and cake,” she listed everything.
Mom’s eyes grew wide, her face turned crimson, and she pulled Evie by her long hair.“How dare you disobey me?”she yelled.“You’re grounded for two weeks.”
Mom was livid.It was the first time I witnessed Mom treating Evelyn differently.She was no longer the delicate little girl we had to idolize.She was a perfect ballerina robot who had to follow all her instructions, or she would pay hell.
The kernel of knowledge I’d gathered became a weapon—a mighty weapon I used often.
There was no pride in my behavior.After that, I always got my sister in trouble.It was so easy.
I would eat all the cookies in the jar, then, with an innocent look, I would point an accusing finger at Evelyn.Watching Mom’s wrath falling upon my sister brought me satisfaction.I enjoyed each and every tear she shed because of my actions.It was pure bliss.
Every weekend I visited, I hid food under her bed or planted flurries of crumbs somewhere I knew Mom would find while cleaning.It was the perfect trap.I unleashed a storm upon my unsuspecting sister.
Even on the weekends when Evie found solace in Dad and Miranda’s home, I played my part, spinning tales about how Evie had indulged in food.“She ate dessert—not once, but twice,” I would say innocently.
Nothing was true, but the twisted satisfaction from Mom’s sharp words was intoxicating.
Once I realized all the damage I’d made, I carried the guilt of knowing I played a role in shaping my sister’s eventual battle with not one but several eating disorders.I was oblivious then to the extreme lengths Mom was going to sculpt Evie into a flawless, lithe ballerina.
Evelyn was a seven-year-old who lived for one purpose—to shine as Mom’s little star.She didn’t have friends, only a sister who tried her best to see her defeated.I wanted her to crumble, shatter into fragments, and pay for disrupting our picture-perfect family.
Evie’s admiration for me slowly faded away.When she turned nine, she finally lost her smile.Soon after, she stopped visiting us.Mom requested sole custody of her, and my sister admitted to the judge that Dad neglected her.By that time, he had already divorced from Miranda.
It was maybe the best day of my life.I not only had broken my sister, but I had severed her relationship with our father.He only loved me.I was Daddy’s little girl, and no one would ever take him away from me.
My interactions with Evie became rare, and she seemed less enthusiastic.I took some pleasure in knowing she was miserable.I felt victorious.
When Evie reached the age of twelve, she began going to weekend camps.I noticed subtle changes in her behavior that indicated a revival of her previous self.Her laughter, which used to be rare, became more frequent.
However, I felt a strong resentment toward her newfound happiness.I didn’t understand where her joy was coming from, but I made a promise to myself to discover it and put an end to it.I was determined to regain control over her.
And so, one day, I volunteered to pick up Evie from her dance camp.As I entered the spacious auditorium of the academy, I was captivated by what I saw.Evie was gracefully swaying on stage, perfectly in sync with the beautiful music.The boy playing the piano seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly older.The harmony they created was mesmerizing, showcasing Evie’s precise movements and the almost nine years of dedication she had put into her art.
Her performance was breathtaking, like a hypnotic river flowing effortlessly.The fluidity of her movements matched the rhythm perfectly, and her pointed toes told stories on the polished wooden floor.
Each pirouette entranced the audience, and each plié carried a story.Evie’s graceful body glided across the stage as if she were the melody—or the music was made just for her.It had been so long since I had seen her dance.This was Evie, but she seemed more alive, more radiant, and somehow ...perfect.
As her dance ended, a small group of onlookers applauded.A boy, who seemed to be around my age, maybe younger, twirled her around in celebration, their laughter filling the room.The pianist got up from his seat and offered her a snack, likely a granola bar, and the three of them exchanged a playful conversation.I stood on the sidelines, consumed by anger, as I watched her enjoy the company of friends.The grip of my hatred tightened even more.
Consumed by bitterness, I became determined to sever these friendships, regardless of the time it would take.My first step was to inform Mom about Evie’s carb intake and her connection with a guy named Hanford.Despite his sixteen-year-old age, I twisted the truth to paint him as a predatory twenty-five-year-old.
