Because beating Ethan doesn’t just bring the rush of defeating my nemesis. It’s something bigger, something I value even more than Ethan’s personal injury. With every win, I’m showing myself, and everyone around me, that I’m capable of anything I set my mind to.
It’s not arrogance pushing me. It’s ambition. I’m not out to defeat Ethan despite everything, despite food poisoning or the stares and eye-rolls from our classmates, out of wanting to be better than everyone else. Only better than everyone else thinks I can be. There’s a difference, one I wish the world would recognize.
It’s why I’ve sometimes let this rivalry get the better of me. For every reason I have to despise Ethan, I’m grateful for the chance to prove my worth. To prove not that I am the best, but that I can be the best.
Five
MY MOM DOESN’T PICK me up. It’s worse.
After fifteen minutes of me hunched over the wastebasket while Nurse Sharp patches up the knees of a freshman who had limited success jumping over a railing, my sister walks in, dressed like she just woke up.
Which I’m certain she has. She’s in sweats, her Columbia crop top, and the stained purple Uggs she bought when she was a sophomore in high school. The remarkable thing is, Jamie Sanger wears disheveled well. Though obviously uncombed, her hair, dark brown with the hint of a curl mine’s never had, frames her face and falls over her shoulders perfectly. I haven’t yet gotten used to the tan and the dusting of freckles I’ve noticed on her cheeks in the months since she moved home. Besides the difference in hair color and her being twenty-six, we’re similar in our features. They’re just packaged differently, Jamie’s in couch-potato chic and mine in . . . me. A seventeen-year-old who shops exclusively at Nordstrom.
“Sorry it took so long,” she says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I was totally asleep when Mom called.” Rushing over, she places her hand on my forehead, which feels weird and unnecessary. “How are you feeling?”
I slide off the table and stand out of her arm’s reach. “I’m fine.”
“Jamie Sanger,” Nurse Sharp says, walking out of the supply room. “Is that you?”
Jamie straightens, facing Sharp with effortless enthusiasm. My sister’s probably the only person in the known universe capable of feeling genuine joy at seeing the school nurse of her alma mater at eight in the morning. I honestly don’t know where Jamie gets her endless reservoir of excitement. It’s just the way she is.
“Nurse Sharp, it’s so nice to see you.” Jamie hugs Nurse Sharp, who looks surprised, if delighted. “How are you?”
“I’m great when I’m not dealing with stubborn students like this one.” She nods in my direction. I pretend not to hear, resuming my examination of the STD chart. “What about you? What are you doing in town?”
Jamie doesn’t wince. Her smile doesn’t falter. I’ve watched Jamie handle this question half a dozen times and yet her reaction never ceases to surprise me. “Oh, I’m back home for a bit,” she replies. “Figuring out what’s next for me.”
She couldn’t sound happier. Couldn’t sound happier her college fiancé ended their engagement three months ago. Couldn’t sound happier she was let go from her dream job working in city politics in Chicago and now lives in her parents’ house, sleeping under the same sheets she did when she was in high school. For all I know, it could be true. Everything is an opportunity to Jamie. Even failure.
It’s one of many things we’ve never seen eye to eye on.
“Well. Wonderful,” Nurse Sharp says. The effusive word feels out of place coming from the mouth I usually only hear issuing me gruff admonitions. “I hope you’re taking whatever time you need.”
Jamie just beams.
Turning to me, my sister’s expression transforms, concern filling her eyes. “Do you need help to the car?”
I clench my jaw. “No. I’ve got it.”
Jamie nods, sympathy undimmed. If she caught the edge in my voice, she doesn’t react. Nurse Sharp intercedes, giving me a warning look. “Take the trash can,” she orders me. “Don’t even think about coming back until you’ve kept two meals down.”
I brusquely grab the trash can, knowing Nurse Sharp will follow us into the parking lot with it if I don’t. “I’ll take care of her,” Jamie says over her shoulder as we’re walking out the door.
This nearly pushes me to remind her I don’t need or want her taking care of me. While I’m eight years younger, I’m hardly Jamie’s baby sister. I haven’t been since before she went off to college. Instead, I’m the future valedictorian, the head of an extracurricular that produces hundreds of pages of publication-worthy content, the vice president of the student body—not to mention the reliable competitor to one very pernicious nemesis. I’m capable. I don’t need babying.
We walk in the direction of the parking lot. I notice Jamie studying the science hall, which is one of the newer buildings on campus, the clean concrete facade contrasting with the beige stucco of the other classrooms. “It’s weird how different the campus is,” Jamie comments, a rare note of wistfulness in her usually cheerful voice. “I hardly recognize this place.”
“Yeah, a lot can change in eight years,” I reply neutrally. Jamie says nothing, and I wonder if she’s reflecting on how different Fairview is—how different I am—while she’s functionally exactly the same. No job. No cute one-bedroom in Chicago. No plan.
I’m not scornful of Jamie. I’m not even judgmental, except in the sense of having evaluated her response to life upheaval and judged it to be extremely confusing. I remember the dinners she spent scrolling through pictures of her and her ex-fiancé on her phone, the nights she was curled on her comforter, clutching her pillow like a life preserver. I understand she’s been hurt and left with new and scary uncertainty. I just don’t understand how her response is doing exactly nothing.
Passing the chain-link fence on the edge of campus, Jamie inhales deeply, like she’s relishing the sea-scented air hanging over campus. “I’m so happy I’m here for your final semester,” she says, exuberance returning. “I’ll get to be here when you go to prom, when you come home from your last day of school, when you graduate . . . The next few months will be huge for you. I’m really happy I’ll be around to see it.”
“Yeah,” I say, hiding everything I would voice if I weren’t worried I’d insult Jamie. Really though, the next few months will be no different from the months before now, with the exception of getting into Harvard in April. I’ve already done the work. I’ve applied to colleges, I’ve gotten perfect AP scores, I’ve defeated Ethan on everything from chemistry exams to Mrs. Cohen’s Greatest US President debate competition (defending Rutherford B. Hayes, no less). What remains is sitting in classes, waiting for the real world to start.