I’m orderly, careful, introverted.
Charlie is tall and thin, his hair a lighter shade of brown now, a casual smattering of tasteful freckles scattered across his nose.
I’m far from tall, and thanks to some recessive German hausfrau genes from Dad’s side, I have what I call extra weight and what Em insists are enviable curves. My dark-almost-black hair is so curly it verges on unmanageable, and my face looks like someone spilled a whole jar of freckles on it.
Charlie makes himself comfortable wherever he is—legs stretched out, arms propped casually behind his head—while I wish I could curl into the smallest space possible needed to exist, like a pill bug.
Last spring, my brother pitched the school’s baseball team to winning the national championship. He is loved by the band geeks and the jocks, the smart kids and the art kids, the loners and the stoners and the straight-edgers alike.
I have spent the past four years studying my ass off and padding my schedule with extracurriculars chosen solely to impress Harvard. The few acquaintance friends I have beyond Em, I’ve met through her.
And, of course, there’s that one last glaring difference, the one I haven’t mentioned yet, the one that even our shared DNA can’t overcome:
Charlie got leukemia.
I didn’t.
Three
THE LOBBY OUTSIDE THE auditorium is packed with seniors and parents, and in the middle of the crush, I see Mom and Dad.
No Charlie.
Mom waves, Dad beams, and when I reach them, they pull me into a group hug, nearly smashing the bouquet of yellow daisies Mom’s holding against my chest in the process.
“Whoa,” she calls out, holding them aside, but Dad scoops me in harder and Mom just laughs.
“We’re so proud,” Dad says when we finally part, and I realize he’s tearing up a little bit.
“And your speech was phenomenal,” Mom says.
“I loved that quote at the end,” Dad says. “Brilliant. What was it again, ‘Not to give up’?”
“?‘And not to yield.’?”
“You must be so excited,” he says. “This is it. Your whole life is in front of you.” And he’s right. I should be excited, but right then I wish I had given a totally different speech. I wish I were a totally different person.
“Have you seen your brother?” Mom asks.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I say, scanning the crowd.
“Our reservation is at eight, so we should really leave soon,” Dad says, checking his watch and frowning. “The traffic getting out of here is going to be a mess. And we might as well have parked on the moon for how close we are.”
Mom sends me a quick eye roll at Dad’s exaggeration, then pats him reassuringly on the arm. “Honey, why don’t you and I go get the car while Parker finds Charlie? We’ll pick them up on our way out.”
“Okay, but if we’re late . . .”
“Dad, don’t worry. I’m on it,” I say. “I’ll text you guys when I find him.”
I give them both another hug before they leave, then commence the search for my brother.
The lobby is packed. I duck out of the way as two guys from the football team tackle each other in what seems like a drunken hug.
“I’m going to miss you next year, bro,” one bellows, while the other one gives him a dude clap on the back.
Across the way, I see Christine Miller of the split ends with her older sister, Molly, arms wrapped around each other as they pose for a picture for their parents, a row of lockers behind them.
I pass Jenna Lambert, our class salutatorian, embracing some guy with heavy-metal hair wearing leather pants, her hands hanging around his neck, his hands firmly clamped on her butt, clearly not caring who sees. She’s a total badass.
There’s Brian and Brad Vascek, the other set of twins in our grade, both in honors classes with me, both going to Miami University next year. Brad catches my eye and gives a wave, and I wave back, envying them their closeness.
Everyone around me seems completely at ease in their own skin. In obvious contrast, my eyelid keeps twitching impatiently, and I squeeze both eyes shut, trying to will it into stillness, my face scrunching with the effort.
When I open them, I realize I’m standing right in front of the picked-over Help Wanted bulletin board outside of the guidance counselor’s office. Out of curiosity more than anything else, I scan the remaining listings: telemarketer (“Make $20,000 a month from home!”), dishwasher at a local diner, an assistant at a pottery studio, a full-time nanny position, a Kings Island hiring fair that happened last weekend.
Right then, arms circle me from behind in a hug.
“Park!” Em sings in my ear, and when I turn around, my face immediately moves into a real smile, one that mirrors hers.
“We did it,” she says, then says it again, this time in a yell that makes several people turn around: “We did it! We graduated!”
She’s practically bouncing in place, and I remember how my dad used to call her Tigger when we were little.
“Nice speech, lady,” she adds.
I cringe. “I totally messed up at the end.”
“I didn’t notice. Besides, if you did? Who cares. You’re the valedictorian, Parker McCullough. Not anyone else. You. That’s a big freaking deal.”
I shrug, embarrassed.
She leans closer, her voice lowering. “I know it must feel weird, Charlie not graduating tonight. But you can still be happy and proud of yourself, Park. I am.”
I look away before she can see my expression, my eyes suddenly stinging. “Speaking of, have you seen him?”
“Not yet,” Em says, standing on her tiptoes next to me. “Oh crap,” she mutters, nudging my side and pointing across the room.
Em’s ex-girlfriend, May Kim, is talking to Matty. Whether it’s because May has chopped off her waist-length hair and is now sporting a chic pixie cut, or the fact that Em hasn’t seen her ex-girlfriend since a teary breakup up last Thanksgiving, when May was home from Oberlin, Em sharply sucks in her breath.
“Of course she looks good,” she murmurs.
“Why is she here?” I ask, immediately protective.
“Probably for Christine and Dolores and Jean and Clement. They were all on newspaper together last year.”
Right then Matty sees us, his goofy grin growing, and he beckons Em over.
Em shoots me a confused look. “I should at least say hi, right?”
“It’s up to you. But I’ve got your back no matter what.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “Do I look okay?”
My best friend looks radiant—red flushing her cheeks, her blond hair beachy and perfectly tousled even though it’s only the beginning of summer and we’re nowhere near the ocean.
I reach in my gown pocket and hand her my tub of sparkly lip balm. “It’s got magic powers.”
She dabs her finger in, gives her lips a quick swipe, then straightens.
“Perfect,” I say.
She starts to leave, then turns back, pointing to the corner. “By the way, your brother’s over there. But be forewarned: He’s engaging in some major PDA with Erin right now.”
I look in that direction and sigh.
Charlie and Erin are leaning against a wall of lockers, pressed together in a lip-locked embrace that’s pushing the boundaries of PG-13. I make my way toward them, clearing my throat and tapping Charlie on the shoulder when I get there.
When he turns around, his cheeks are flushed, and the expression on his face falls a bit when he sees it’s me.
“Hey,” he says, pulling me into an obligatory hug, his arm angled awkwardly against me, like he’s just fallen out of a tree and broken his arm, and the whole thing is super weird because I can’t think of the last time we hugged, if ever. Not to mention he reeks of beer.
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
“Nice to see you too, Mom,” he says, stepping back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Charlie,” I say in warning.
“God, just trust me, okay?”
I look over at Erin for confirmation, but she’s put on her special smile, the bright hard sunshiny one just like the one our mom uses when she wants to change the subject. “Parker! Happy graduation!”