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There was a long time when my sister didn’t laugh. There was even a time when she didn’t want to live.
“I’ve seen enough men drool over you. And girls for that matter.” I force out a chuckle, trying not to let the scars of the past taint our conversation.
“I want to hear about you. How are you doing, Lace?” Despite my best effort, concern seeps into my voice and my sister is quick to notice the change in tone.
“Enough with the worrying, Wesley. I am perfectly fine. If anything, I’m bored. High school is the same thing day in, day out. I’m ready for a challenge. I’m ready for some fresh faces.” She says the last part indifferently, but I know better. There is one face in particular she never wants to see again. The same face who took out a restraining order on me last spring when I gave him a broken nose and two black eyes. I’m not a violent person by nature, but when I saw Lacey curled up, sobbing her heart out on the kitchen floor that day, something inside me snapped. It took Nico and half the soccer team to drag me off him.
My mother says I’m lucky he didn’t press charges, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s the one who is lucky to still be alive.
“Boring can be a good thing.” Jesus, I’m starting to sound like her parent.
As if reading my thoughts, Lacey’s scolding tone rings in my ear, “You’re starting to sound like dad. Do me a favour and don’t be my big brother for a minute, be my friend. I want to hear all the wild freshmen gossip. No filters.”
The words tug on my conscious, a reminder of the time I failed as her big brother, let alone friend. With a deep breath, I push the pain aside, and launch into a hilarious recount of Cody hauling Stella, ass first, out of the club.
Before the incident, my stories used to be Lacey’s universal cure. No matter how angry or upset my sister was, my larger-than-life recounts could always put a smile back on her face. And that has always been my goal: keeping a smile on my little sister’s face. When her heart and trust got shattered into millions of pieces, we lost that connection. A piece of her innocence got stolen away and not even my extravagant stories could bring it back.
“Oh my God. She actuallypunchedhim?” Even though my stories are no longer the magical remedy they once were, Lacey remains my favourite audience member. Always knows when to laugh, gasp, and ask rhetorical questions.
“Sure did. Four times. And not light punches either.” Finally reaching the courtyard, I pause to take some photos of the blooming flora.
“Whoa. I want to meet this girl.” I shudder at the thought of those two firecrackers combining forces. I’m all for girl power, but that is one duo I hope to never see.
“Her roommate’s got a bit of a strange name. Trip, was it?” I feel my smile grow wider at the mention of her name. So much for building a tolerance.
“Nah, Trip’s just the nickname I gave her. She’s the girl I plowed down during move-in day.” My sister had laughed until she cried over that particular story. Out of all the tales I tell, my misfortunes seem to be her favourite.
“Ooh, so she has a nickname now, does she?” My shit eating grin won’t break even though my face muscles are starting to ache.
This is what an adult crush looks like, ladies and gentlemen.
“Yep. I think you’d like her. She’s an original.” The words fly out of my mouth with complete ease, shocking Lacey into unnatural silence.
I give it five seconds. Four, three…
“I’m impressed, Wesley. You’ve finally found a girl who’s kept you interested longer than 72 hours.” Nope, didn’t even hit the two second mark.
“You’ll understand when you meet her. Are you still driving down Saturday?”
“As if I would miss your first varsity tournament. Although with how you’ve abandoned me, maybe I should reconsider.”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “Such a drama queen. I am looking forward to seeing you.”
“Hmm, I’ll be the judge of that. I gotta go, so take care Wesley. I’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning.”
I smack my lips loudly, blowing her a kiss through the phone. “Miss you, Garden Girl.” A loud raspberry is my only response before she ends the call.
If there’s one thing I take credit for, it’s teaching my sister how to make an exit.
Lou
“Well done, Miss Mackenzie.” A corrected copy of my non-procrastinated essay lands with a slap on my desk. I look up to see a perfectly shaved goatee staring back at me.
Nodding towards the circled A on the title page of my paper, Professor Anderson attempts a smile, “I am pleased to see your writing skills are improving. You’ve come a long way since that first class.” The wordsunexcused tardinesslay in his undertone, but I decide to focus on the compliment instead.
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.” I hear Wes stifle a laugh beside me. Professor Anderson gives me one last nod before continuing down our row. As soon as he’s past my line of vision, I turn and slap Wes on the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
