I'd been in love with my childhood best friend for twenty years, but he only ever saw me as a little sister. When I finally gave him a love letter, he told me to forget about it immediately. That is, until I held my boyfriend's hand right in front of him. Ethan’s eyes went red. He pushed my boyfriend aside and bit my lip, possessively. "Maya White, I don't want to be your brother anymore." I slapped him hard across the face. "You don't even deserve to be treated like a dog." 1 This marked my third failed attempt at skipping class this month. Once again, Ethan Miller grabbed me by the back of my collar and dragged me back. Rubbing the red mark on his wrist where I'd bitten him, he asked, "Maya White, are you trying to start a rebellion?" Knowing I couldn't win a fight against him, I muttered "Control freak" under my breath as I followed. Ethan heard me. He stopped and turned around. "I'm your older brother. You think I can't keep you in line?" I swung my backpack onto my shoulders, hopped on my bike, and took off. "We're not even related! Mind your own business." This time, Ethan didn't chase after me. I knew I'd gotten under his skin again. My family and Ethan's lived in the same apartment building, his family downstairs, mine upstairs. It was strange, really. Ethan’s parents were regular folks, working steady jobs with fixed salaries. But their son was incredibly bright, practically a genius. My parents were both partners at a law firm, courtroom champions. My grandpa was a renowned literature professor, and my grandma was a retired head teacher. Me? I was always at the bottom of the class, couldn't even win a simple argument. When I was six, my mom and Ethan’s mom, Mrs. Peterson, had a whim. They took Ethan and me to get our IQs tested. The results: Ethan scored 130, a certified genius. I scored 80. The doctor mentioned potential developmental concerns, suggesting I might struggle. Mrs. Peterson looked at me with pity and told Ethan earnestly, "You have to take good care of your poor little sister from now on." My mom, seeing the neighbor's brilliant kid, was eager to latch onto him. She basically forced me to accept Ethan as my older brother right then and there. They might not have meant much by it, but Ethan took it seriously. Even at an age where he still occasionally wet the bed, he remembered his "mission": To take care of me, his "slow" little sister. From that day on, it felt like I had a second dad. If the ages weren't impossible, I'd almost suspect Ethan was secretly my father. 2 When I started elementary school, my parents' careers were really taking off, leaving them little time for me. Mrs. Peterson downstairs would often bring me to her place. Back then, I really disliked Ethan. He didn't talk much and always had a serious expression. He'd get annoyed if I didn't study, annoyed if I didn't eat properly. Honestly, I rarely saw him happy. Our neighbor, old Mrs. Gable, shrewdly commented, "He's so young, but acts more serious than his own parents." But despite his cold demeanor, his sense of principle was unbelievably strong. If he decided I needed to be asleep by ten, not a second later was allowed. Once, I went playing in the mud with classmates in a partially drained pond. When he found out, he borrowed a fishing net from someone nearby, scooped me up like a fish, and hauled me out. His strength and stern face scared the other kids in the pond into tears. Kids at school teased me, saying my mom had found me a "little husband." I was so embarrassed and furious. During Ethan's nap time, I took some watercolors and drew silly mustaches and devil horns on his face. The whole class burst out laughing. He just calmly wiped it off with a tissue. The moment he started wiping, I knew I was done for. After school, I hid like a mouse. I never expected my own parents to betray me. They practically bowed as they invited Ethan in, then dragged me out of the closet. Ethan had brought a box of watercolors and a stack of drawing paper. He sat at the table and watched me draw doodles for what felt like a day and a night. He said calmly, "Maya White, you like drawing so much? Go on, draw until you've had enough." Later, I learned the term "calculating." Looking back, it fit him perfectly. 3 It wasn't until around the start of high school that I really began to like Ethan. At fifteen or sixteen, hormones were raging through the school. Crushes and early relationships were normal. As time went on, Ethan really started to stand out. He was remarkably handsome compared to the awkward teenagers around us. Back then, the girls in my class were obsessed with pop stars. Their yearbooks and notebooks were filled with pictures of idols with brightly colored hair. But gradually, they realized something: none of those idols were as good-looking as Ethan. They started acting like characters in teen dramas, giving Ethan love notes and fancy chocolates. Several times, I saw chocolates I wanted sitting on Ethan's desk. I'd stare at them and ask, "If you're not going to eat those, can I have them?" He wouldn't let me. He returned all the letters and gifts to their original senders. On the way home from school, I'd argue with him. Why couldn't he just take the free stuff? Returning it hurt people's feelings. Ethan scolded me, "Maya White, you have no self-respect." Maybe he was afraid I'd tattle to my parents, or start crying uncontrollably like I used to. Ethan walked into the corner store and bought a huge bag of assorted chocolates. He tossed it into my arms like feeding a stray dog. "Here, eat these slowly. Don't touch chocolates other people give you." I retorted defiantly, "Aren't you 'other people' too?" He flicked my forehead with his finger. "I'm your brother. Would I ever try to harm you?" Ethan's logic was seriously twisted. Were those girls who liked him trying to harm him? He was an expert at applying the 'too much of a good thing' principle to me. I ate that bag of chocolates over two days and ended up needing an emergency dentist appointment. After that painful lesson, I reluctantly brought the rest to school to share with my friends. Chloe Davis, munching on my chocolate, asked indistinctly, "Maya, do you think Ethan likes you? Why else would he give you so much chocolate?" I thought back over Ethan’s attitude towards me for the past decade or so. I shook my head firmly. "He's less like a boyfriend and more like my dad." Chloe clicked her tongue. "Your brain really is slow, isn't it? Isn't that exactly what they call a 'protector' type – the kind that acts like your dad?" 4 Chloe’s words stuck with me. Even though Ethan was harsh, everything he did was supposedly for my own good. Thinking about it that way, I realized I did depend on him. After all, since I was born, I'd spent more time with him than with my own parents. From the moment I could understand things, it felt like I'd unconsciously accepted it: I was meant to be with Ethan forever. So, even when he was strict with me, I took it gladly. Mimicking the other girls, I wrote Ethan a long love letter and slipped it into his desk. After school, while packing up, Ethan pulled out an envelope. He was about to return it out of habit, but then he saw the name on it. His fingers paused. My heart leaped into my throat. Finally, under my hopeful gaze, he put it in his bag. That evening, he called me up to the rooftop. I thought my romantic dreams were about to come true. Instead, he tore the letter into tiny pieces right in front of me. He said, "Maya White, are your grades perfect now? You have time to copy others writing love letters?" Among the shreds, I spotted the decorative washi tape I’d used to seal it. He hadn't even opened it. When he returned letters to other girls, he at least managed a polite smile. With me, he was more ruthless than ever. I cry easily. When I'm hurt, the tears just pour out uncontrollably. But Ethan pretended not to see. He said coldly, "Go home and think about what you've done." I knew for sure then: Ethan didn't like me. I secretly vowed never to speak to Ethan again. Maybe this was the awkwardness of confessing to someone you know too well. The next day, trying to avoid Ethan, I left home half an hour early. Just around the corner, Mrs. Gable asked, "Maya, why aren't you walking with young Ethan today?" A few steps later, Mr. Henderson, out for his morning walk, asked, "Hey kiddo, haven't seen the Miller boy this morning?" Mrs. Diaz, coming back from grocery shopping, chimed in, "Maya, why are you out alone today?" I clutched my head and practically ran the rest of the way. What was I supposed to say? That I confessed my love, got rejected, and now we were enemies? But Ethan acted like nothing happened. He arrived at school right on time. Just like always, he brought me a bagel and the mushroom and swiss melt I liked. I glanced at it and threw everything into the trash can. 5 Ethan retrieved the breakfast from the trash and placed it back on my desk. "You can throw a tantrum, but wasting food is not okay." Meeting his unusually stern gaze, I backed down again. In that moment, I felt a sudden wave of despair. I really didn't have the luxury of acting like some novel heroine, running off to another country for weeks just to make the brooding CEO miss me. Just like now, no matter how much I sulked, when I went home, I still had to call him 'Ethan' or 'big brother'. Looking back, the most rebellious thing I'd ever done was probably just sulking in secret. Then hiding, making Ethan find me, and then making him guess why I was mad. But he never guessed; he knew my patterns too well. Mad today, easily bribed with some candy tomorrow. I hated myself for being so predictable, but he'd always say it wasn't my fault, because my IQ was only 80. The storm of the confession blew over quickly. Because we had high school entrance exams coming up, I temporarily shelved our feud for the bigger picture. Luckily, Ethan wasn't petty. He was still willing to carve out precious time to tutor me. In the end, Ethan and I both barely scraped into the same Magnet High School. He was number one in the honors program; I was dead last in the regular track. When my parents saw my results, they treated Ethan to dinner three times in a row. I was left at home, stomach growling, surviving on ramen noodles. I thought life would just drift along like this. Ethan would continue being my unrelated but ever-present older brother. He didn't like me, but at least for now, he didn't seem to like anyone else either. Thinking about that brought me a sliver of comfort. But we were growing up, and things inevitably changed. Junior year, a transfer student arrived in Ethan’s honors class and immediately took the top spot in the grade rankings. As a struggling student myself, I wasn't interested in their academic battles. I only noticed that Ethan, usually laid-back, suddenly got serious. He stopped walking to and from school with me, always leaving early and coming home late. I wanted to keep him company, but he said it wasn't necessary, worried I wouldn't get enough rest. During the mid-winter exams of junior year, Ethan caught up to the transfer student, tying with her for first place. Their homeroom teacher was ecstatic, happily predicting two Ivy League prospects from the class that year. My classroom was on the floor above Ethan's. Afterwards, I often saw Ethan and the transfer student studying together in the hallway. The girl was elegant and composed. I'd seen her name on the ranking lists: Sophia Bellweather. 6 Chloe said they were dating. I didn't believe it. Ethan was the least likely person to get into a relationship during high school. But they were always together, seemingly closer each day. Later, I noticed a little Stitch keychain dangling from Ethan's backpack zipper. It looked familiar because Sophia had a pink Angel one (Stitch's girlfriend). Ethan usually disliked cute things like that. Last year for his birthday, I gave him a pair of sneakers. As we were leaving the shoe store, someone outside was selling squishy stress toys. One was an ugly-cute, big-eyed monster that squeaked "love you" when squeezed. I bought one and secretly tucked it into the shoebox. I even planned my excuse: if he found it, I'd say it came free with the shoes. But unexpectedly, Ethan opened the gift box right in front of me. He glanced inside, then handed the big-eyed monster back to me. "I don't need this. You can play with it." Yeah, he was always mature and serious; he probably thought anything like that was childish. But now, this big-eared Stitch wasn't childish? Hanging a keychain on his backpack wasn't childish? Turns out, he just thought I was childish. Fingering the keychain on his bag, I asked Ethan if he and Sophia were together. He ruffled my hair. "You're just a kid, what do you know?" My heart sank. Ethan was straightforward. Yes meant yes, no meant no. If he didn't like something, he'd say it directly. Like how he rejected me years ago. But this time, he didn't deny it. That was basically a confirmation. I hadn't expected my first real encounter with Sophia to happen so soon.
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