Every September, They Chose My Sister

When my parents divorced, they agreed that my sister and I would each live with one of them for a year, then switch. Every September, we traded houses. One daughter with Mom for the school year, the other with Dad. But every handoff turned into a fight over my younger sister, Quinn. "Quinn, come away with Mom for fall break." Dad frowned. "She's with me this year. Stop interfering." Mom's smile went thin. "Last year I had a business trip and left her with you for seventeen days. I want those days back." "It wasn't a full seventeen days. It was sixteen days and eight hours." Quinn sighed sweetly. "If only I could split myself in half." They argued for a long time, and in the end they each gave a little. They would both take Quinn to Seabreeze Island for fall break. Quinn asked, curious, "What about Gwen?" Dad looked away. "She isn't mine this year anyway." Mom, who hadn't looked me in the eye once since walking in, finally turned my way. "Work is busy this year. I don't want to be raising a kid. Go stay with your grandparents." Chapter 1 Under the table, my fingernails dug crescents into my palms until they bled. Mom had just spent twenty minutes arguing with Dad over seventeen extra days with Quinn. Then, with one sentence, she found a reason to send me somewhere else. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Ms. Alvarez, my advisor. [Both summer programs gave you excellent evaluations. Northbridge University is only one state over, so I think it's worth serious consideration.] I typed back: [I've decided on Redstone.] More than a thousand miles away. That should be far enough to leave the first eighteen years of being unwanted behind me. A moment later, another message came in. [Have you discussed it with your parents?] I lowered my eyes. [No. But I'm eighteen. I can take responsibility for my own decision.] Across the table, Quinn noticed me looking at my phone. She tipped her chin toward me. "Gwen doesn't look very happy about staying with Grandma and Grandpa." She was right. I wasn't. At their house, I had to wake before sunrise to make breakfast for everyone. When I got back from late study sessions, I still had to wash clothes for my two younger cousins. I'd done it before. I had no desire to do it again. Mom frowned. "Gwen, can you try thinking about the adults for once? "There are management changes at work this year. This promotion matters. If I bring you with me and don't take care of you exactly the way you want, you'll spend days sulking again." Dad nodded. "She's right. You have a terrible temper. Last year I missed one parent-teacher conference and you gave me attitude for a week." He snorted. "Anyone listening would've thought you were the one paying my bills." Mom shook her head at me in disappointment. "Your sister had just started high school. Your father wanted to see how she was adjusting, so of course he went to her conference instead. Why can't you be more understanding?" I loosened my grip on my phone case and looked at them. "Starting high school is that important? "Then why didn't either of you come to my conference when I was a freshman?" Mom's eyes flickered. Then her expression hardened again. "Quinn was finishing middle school that year. Obviously we had to prioritize her." Dad nodded immediately. "There you go again, dragging up old grievances the second someone criticizes you. Her year mattered more." My appetite vanished. I set my fork down hard. "Quinn's conference and mine weren't even on the same day. "You don't have to work this hard to invent excuses. You just didn't care enough to remember mine. That's all." For a second, Mom had nothing to say. Dad immediately tried to distance himself from it. "That wasn't my custody year for you. Don't blame me." Quinn tapped her fork against her plate. "Come on, Gwen. "The only times we all sit down for a meal together are the holidays and the September handoff. Why ruin dinner by dragging this up? "Maybe Mom was just swamped at work and forgot. "It's one parent-teacher conference. You take everything so personally." One conference? It had been ten years. Ten conferences. Even before my parents divorced, the chair beside me at school functions had already started going empty. Last year, Casey Kendall, the student who helped process financial-aid forms, pulled me aside after class. "Gwen, this might be rude, but I wanted to ask you something. "Is your family struggling? Do you need help applying for assistance?" I stared at her, confused. She lowered her voice, embarrassed. "I heard from someone who went to middle school with you that maybe you don't really have family around. So I thought I should check." What she meant was orphan. Heat rushed to my face. I wasn't angry at her. What rose in me was something much bleaker than anger. For years, not one classmate had seen my parents at a conference, an orientation, or a school event. Of course people eventually made assumptions. Casey was a kind person. I knew she hadn't meant to hurt me. So I made myself smile. "I'm not an orphan. I don't need financial aid, but thank you for asking." That was why I'd begged Dad last year to please, just once, come to my conference. He promised he would. And he did come to the school. I stood at the classroom window and spotted him crossing the parking lot. For one stupid second, I was happy. Then I watched his path bend toward the freshman building. Toward Quinn. For ten years, I swallowed disappointment because I wanted my divorced family to stay peaceful. And what did that make me in their eyes? Difficult. Petty. Ungrateful. I should have stopped enduring it years ago. A tear fell onto the words REDSTONE UNIVERSITY glowing on my phone. I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled. It was okay. I didn't have to endure it anymore. Chapter 2 No one noticed my mood change. No one noticed my red eyes. After Quinn told me I was making too much of one parent-teacher conference, everyone silently decided the subject was closed. I was supposed to know better. So they went back to eating. Quinn's plate quickly became a mountain of food. Mom and Dad competed over everything involving her. "Quinn, have some of Mom's roast. Your father burned the steaks." "Quinn, don't listen to her. That roast is practically raw in the middle." Quinn. Quinn. Again and again. Sometimes they talked with their mouths full, and for half a second the sound blurred enough that I thought they'd said Gwen. I would look up. No one was looking at me. My sister hadn't always been named Quinn. She was born Sienna Carter. After our parents divorced, Mom was determined to give her the name Quinn — Mom's family name. She was willing to walk away from the settlement with nothing to get it. She and Dad had a screaming match outside the courthouse. I was little. I remember grabbing at their coats, trying to pull them apart. "Mom, I can take your name. Change mine instead. Please stop fighting." She yanked her arm away. "I don't need you to have my name." I sat down hard on the sidewalk where she'd shoved me. They only stopped fighting when my sister burst into tears. In the end, neither parent got exactly what they wanted. Dad refused to let her lose the Carter surname. So Mom made her Quinn Carter instead. Her first name became Mom's family name. A name built entirely out of how badly they both wanted her. After dinner, Mom linked arms with Quinn. "Your sister is switching dorms at Ashgrove. Your father is hopeless with packing, so I'm going to help her. You can take the bus to registration tomorrow." I stopped her. "Mom, you haven't given me my school fees yet." She didn't even turn around. "I already paid Quinn's tuition. Ask your father for yours." Dad glared at her back. "You had to take paying Quinn's tuition from me too? That was supposed to be mine." Then he reluctantly transferred money to my account. As he did, he looked at me with suspicion. "You're so quiet and stubborn. Your grades probably aren't anything special either, right? "Can you even get into a decent university? "Don't make your mother and me throw money away." I nodded without expression. I was in the top three of my entire class. Every other parent in my grade knew that. The only two who didn't were my own. They hadn't cared before. From now on, they didn't need to. Chapter 3 At Senior Family Day, I was the only student whose parents didn't show up. Two of my classmates had parents working several states away. Both families still managed to send someone. Mine were less than a quarter mile from the auditorium. They were helping Quinn set up her new dorm room at Ashgrove. Neither of them could spare twenty minutes for me. My turn was getting close when I suddenly saw Mom and Dad walking toward the ceremony with sour expressions. The mother of a girl I'd known since elementary school waved at me. "Gwen! Your parents went to the wrong building. They were just a little late." I almost laughed. They hadn't gotten lost. They'd run into someone who knew us and realized how bad it would look if they didn't come. So they let themselves be steered over. Mom folded her arms. "How long does this thing take? Quinn's waiting for me to bring her lunch." Dad looked completely detached. "When they call Gwen, you walk the senior arch with her. She's yours this year." Mom glanced at the decorated arch at the front of the gym, where students were stopping for photos with their families. Her face tightened. "I'm not doing that. Everyone will be staring. It's mortifying. "You do it." Dad refused immediately. "I'm not putting on a show for a room full of strangers." They lowered their voices and started arguing. Neither of them noticed when my name was called. I didn't ask either of them to stop. I simply walked past them. Alone, I crossed beneath the senior arch. If Quinn had been the one who needed a parent beside her, would they have behaved like this? Of course not. My best friend Nora was waiting on the other side. When I told her what had happened, she looked furious and confused. She couldn't understand why my parents favored Quinn so completely. I could. Or at least, I had finally stopped trying to understand. "For a long time, I thought there had to be something wrong with me," I said. "So I became number one in my class. I stopped asking for snacks, toys, anything extra. I learned to cook, clean, do laundry — all of it. "I turned into the kid every adult called mature and easy. "And nothing changed." I looked back at Mom and Dad, still arguing behind the crowd. "That's when I understood. Favoritism doesn't need a reason. "There's no version of me good enough to earn my way out of it." Nora squeezed my hand. I smiled faintly. "So I'm done trying to change them. "From now on, I'll just live like..." I paused. "Like I'm an orphan." Chapter 4 When fall break arrived, I stepped outside school and immediately saw Dad's car. I waited nearby. A few minutes later, Mom, Dad, and Quinn came out together. Mom carried a bag of Quinn's laundry. Dad had Quinn's pink backpack slung over one shoulder. The three of them were laughing. Then they saw me. The laughter stopped. Mom moved in front of the car door, almost defensively. "You like reading. Spend fall break at the bookstore. "You can't swim, so the beach isn't safe for you." I looked at the way she was blocking the door. Then at Dad, who still hadn't unlocked the car. I almost wanted to laugh. They thought I was about to ruin their happy family trip. "I'm not asking to go. "I need money for food. If you're leaving, what am I supposed to eat?" Mom visibly relaxed. She searched her purse, then tugged Dad's sleeve. "Daniel, do you have cash? Give her some. I don't have any on me, and my phone's dead." Dad didn't move. "She's yours this year. Why should I pay? "You always shove Gwen's bills and Gwen's problems over to me. Doesn't it get old?" I ended up with a few bills crumpled in my hand. My chest felt just as crumpled. Mom started tugging at him and accidentally caught the zipper of Quinn's backpack. The bag fell open. Inside was a thick stack of cash. Quinn snatched it up and hugged the backpack to her chest. "Mom gave me that because my test scores went up. It has nothing to do with you. Don't even think about it." Mom waved impatiently. "All right, Gwen, just go home. I'll charge my phone and send you money later." I didn't move. "They went up? By how much? What's her ranking?" Dad answered proudly. "Two points! "In the SAT, one point can separate thousands of students. "Our Quinn jumped ahead of ten thousand people. Of course she deserves a reward." So they'd handed her three hundred dollars for that? It was absurd. The test for Quinn's grade had been so easy that even the seniors had heard about it. The average went up by nearly twenty points. Quinn had gained two. Against everyone else, she'd actually done worse. Mom went to college. There was no way she couldn't read a score report. But favoritism had never needed logic. They wanted to give Quinn money. So they did. The reason was an afterthought. Mom looked at me, impatient. "Enough with the face, Gwen. I asked one of your classmates about your scores too. You dropped three points. "If there are rewards, there are penalties. If you want to keep picking at this, you can start by paying us a four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fine." That made me laugh. The senior math exam had been brutal. My total just dropped three points. Ms. Alvarez praised me for three days straight. But to my parents, I was a failure who owed them money. "You asked how many points I lost. Did you ask what I actually scored?" Mom shrugged. "Your classmate might've said it. I was in a hurry. "That's not the point. "We have a flight to catch, and I'm done arguing. Stop hounding me like a bill collector. I'll send your money, okay?" A full day passed. She still didn't. I messaged her. No reply. But she had time to edit Quinn's vacation photos and post them online. I messaged Dad. He told me to ask Mom. I'd lived through versions of this my entire life. It still hurt. Every Sunday night before Quinn went back to school, they called each other to confirm she'd packed enough spending money. If one parent had to travel for work, they'd swallow their reluctance and send Quinn to the other house for a few days. Neither of them could stand the idea of her going hungry or spending a night on her own. They weren't forgetful. They weren't irresponsible. They just didn't love me. Chapter 5 At New Year's, the whole extended family gathered again. Quinn ate a little, then ran outside to watch fireworks with her friends. Mom and Dad started arguing about which test-prep program Quinn should enroll in. Their voices climbed until everyone else at the table went silent. Aunt Diane nudged me. "Gwen, they're about to kill each other. Go calm them down." I kept peeling shrimp without looking up. "I'm not going." Grandma Ruth glared at me. "Your parents are practically fighting and you can still sit there eating?" I'd tried to break up their fights more times than I could count. Before the divorce. After the divorce. Not once had it worked. Two years earlier, at our September handoff dinner, they'd started arguing before we even ordered. Quinn was running late, so it was just the three of us in the room. When the shouting got worse, I said something careful and neutral, taking neither side. Mom turned on me instantly. "I'm the one supporting you this year and you won't even take my side? I always knew you were ungrateful." She'd already lifted a chair off the floor. I had no choice but to soften my voice and talk her down. Dad let out a short, ugly laugh behind me. "If you love your mother that much, she can keep you next year too. Fine by me. Quinn's the only one I want." That was all it took. "Quinn is supposed to be mine next year!" They started hitting each other. I stepped between them. Dad's hand swung across my face. The slap was loud enough that the room rang with it. They paused for maybe a second. Then went right back to fighting. Neither of them asked if I was okay. Later, Quinn arrived. She stood in the doorway, eyes already filling. She didn't have to say a word. Mom set the chair down. Dad lowered his hands. They hurried over, both reaching to wipe her face. "Don't cry, Quinn. Mom and Dad were wrong. We scared you." "Come sit by Dad. Order whatever you want." There were other fights I'd tried to stop, and every one of them left me looking just as pathetic. But I loved them. So I kept trying, clumsily, uselessly. I kept believing it was my job to hold together something that had already broken. Now I didn't love them anymore. If they stabbed each other across the dinner table, I honestly wouldn't care. Aunt Diane kept at me. "Move, Gwen. How can you just sit there?" A sharp crack came from the living room. Dad had been slapped. Grandma Ruth stamped her foot and looked at me like I was a lost cause. "You've got ice in your veins." I took my time with a spoonful of soup. "They won't listen to me. Wait for Quinn." The relatives tried. They failed. Eventually Quinn came back. She took one look at our parents in the middle of the room and sighed. "It's New Year's. What are you two doing now?" Mom let go of Dad's collar. Dad rubbed his wrist. "Nothing, honey. We were just messing around. "Come here, Quinn. Take your holiday money. I shouldn't have ruined your night, so there's an extra hundred in there." Dad pulled out an envelope too. "Go buy yourself some new clothes tomorrow. If it isn't enough, text me." Then, right in front of everyone, Mom handed me a noticeably thinner envelope. "Nothing extra for Gwen. Our fighting doesn't bother her in the slightest, so there's nothing to make up for." I took it calmly. I didn't argue. I didn't say a word. Mom seemed surprised at how easy I was being, and looked at me twice. By June, neither of them remembered my SAT. I went alone. I checked my results alone. I filed my applications alone. Once my score was released, admissions offices called nonstop. Some of the best schools in the country wanted me. I didn't change my mind. I chose Redstone University, more than a thousand miles away. At the end of August, it was almost time for another handoff. Mom came into my bedroom and threw herself into helping me pack. She could barely hide how happy she was to send me off and get Quinn back. The next morning, I left early with my suitcase. I wasn't going to the restaurant where we always did the September exchange. I was going to the airport. Nora came to see me off. While we waited at the gate, she asked, "Your parents worship Quinn. What happens when you're successful someday? Won't they dump the whole burden of taking care of them on you?" I smiled. "Easy. We settle it through the court. "One parent each. Every September, we switch." I just didn't know yet which of them would spend their later years being passed back and forth like something nobody wanted.