The sister I'm not

Hi everyone! I hope you'll enjoy my story. I first published it four years ago, but I ended up taking it down because I wasn't happy with the way I'd written the characters. I like this new version much better. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think of the story. Happy reading! See you every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.

"Princess."

I groaned and pulled the comforter over my head. There was no way my first day of college was starting like this.

"Princess."

This time the voice came with two knocks on my door. I kept my eyes shut and mumbled a "go away," which earned me only a brief silence before the handle turned. I shot upright.

"Ton!"

He'd poked his head through the gap with that perfectly unbothered look that made me want to throw my pillow at his face. He was already dressed, of course, in dark jeans, a black T-shirt and a light jacket, his hair still damp. He looked like he'd been up for hours, while I'd spent the morning bargaining with my alarm every nine minutes. His gaze slid over me, then to the time glowing on my phone.

"You're going to be late."

"I'm awake."

He raised an eyebrow, and I suddenly pictured what I must look like: comforter tangled around my legs, hair sticking up in every direction, pillow still clutched to my chest like a life preserver.

"Mostly awake."

"That's what I thought."

I grabbed the second pillow and hurled it at him. Ton shut the door just in time, and the pillow thudded softly against the wood.

"I'll be downstairs, Princess."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Hurry up and I'll think about it," his voice answered from the hallway.

I glared at the door. Liar. He wouldn't think about it for a single second.

Ton had called me Princess for so long I couldn't have said when it started. As a little girl, I'd loved that nickname. It made me feel special, like I mattered more than anyone else. At eighteen, though, it had a very different effect. Especially coming from him.

I kicked off the comforter and set my feet on the cold floorboards. Today should have been simple: a first day of college, nothing more. It wasn't the first day of the rest of my life, or some existential ordeal, and it certainly wasn't a good reason to check my bag four times the night before and a fifth time this morning. It was one day. I could survive one day.

I got ready in a rush. I tied my hair up, changed my mind and let it fall loose over my shoulders, then headed downstairs with my bag slung over one shoulder.

Ton was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee with the serenity of a man who had absolutely nothing on his conscience. I stopped in the doorway.

"You know I'm eighteen, right?"

He raised his mug to his lips.

"Congratulations."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. It's quite an achievement."

I narrowed my eyes. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You're not funny."

"Mina thinks I am."

"My mom loves you too much to be objective."

"So does Billy."

"Your dad's even less objective."

This time he smiled for real, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling back. It was always like this with Ton. Even when I'd firmly decided to be annoyed with him, he found a way to make the effort exhausting.

He set his mug in the sink.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

His gaze dropped to my bag.

"Got everything? Phone?"

I pulled it out of my pocket and waved it under his nose.

"Right here."

"Wallet?"

"In my bag."

"ID?"

"Ton."

"What?"

"I'm starting college, not trekking solo across the Amazon."

He grabbed his keys off the counter.

"Just checking."

"You check everything."

"Not true."

I followed him to the front door.

"Last night you checked what time my classes started three times."

"Twice."

"Three times."

"The third time was to see what time you finished."

I stopped dead.

"That's even worse."

He opened the door.

"Get in the car, Princess."

I closed my eyes for a second.

"I'm eighteen."

"So you've said."

"Then stop treating me like I'm eight."

His smile faded a little. Not completely, but just enough that I almost regretted my tone.

"I don't treat you like you're eight."

"You just checked whether I had my phone."

"Because you leave it everywhere."

"Once."

"Six times."

"You're keeping count?"

"Apparently."

I shook my head and walked past him while he laughed softly behind me. To him, this conversation probably meant nothing. To me, it meant far too much. The problem had never been him checking my bag. The problem was the place he insisted on keeping me in: the youngest, the little sister, the one who needed watching, protecting and driving home. The girl he'd grown up with, who in his mind seemed to have stopped growing up somewhere between two birthdays.

I got in the car without another word, and Ton slid in behind the wheel.

He knew the school far better than I did. He'd been going there for two years, and so had Ray, his best friend. I'd walked across the campus before, but this morning was different: for the first time, I'd be walking in as a student. Just thinking about it tied my stomach in knots.

Ton started the engine. I turned toward the window so he wouldn't notice. Of course, he noticed everything.

"Nervous?"

"No."

"Ella."

"A little."

"It's going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You already know everyone."

"I didn't know anyone on my first day either."

"You had Ray."

"And you've got your partner in crime."

"Émilie's different."

"You're right. All I had was an idiot."

I smiled, and he shot me a quick glance.

"You've got no reason to worry."

"I know."

"And if you get lost…"

"I know the campus."

"If you get lost anyway…"

"I'll call you."

"Good."

I sighed.

"See? That's exactly it."

"What?"

"You're doing it again. Treating me like a kid."

He frowned slightly.

"Because I'm telling you to call me if you need me?"

"Because you assume I'm going to need you."

"You always need me."

He'd said it as a joke, without thinking. I knew that. But my heart still did the stupid thing it did far too often around him, that clumsy little leap that left me a bit more defenseless every time.

I looked out the window. His cologne hung in the air, and I knew it by heart. It was ridiculous, all the things you end up knowing about someone who's been in your life long enough: the way he drove one-handed when the road was clear, the way his jaw tightened when he was annoyed, the little scar near his eyebrow, how his voice was deeper and rougher right after he woke up. And that intoxicating scent.

I closed my eyes. And for a second, the car disappeared.

***

I was almost sixteen. The house was dead quiet. Mina and Billy were out for the evening, and someone was pounding on the door.

My mind went first to Ray—the look on his face when I swung the door open, and Ton’s arm slung heavy over his shoulders.

"What happened?"

Ray let out a ragged breath. "My friend is an idiot."

"I'm perfectly fine," Ton protested.

He was absolutely not fine. I had never seen anyone try so hard to maintain their dignity while failing so miserably to stay upright.

"How much did he drink?"

"I stopped counting."

"I can walk by myself."

The second Ray let go, Ton nearly hit the floor. I caught him by reflex, anchoring his weight.

"Impressive."

Ray stifled a laugh. "Good luck."

"You're not going to help me get him upstairs?"

"I did my part. He got here alive."

"Ray!"

But he was already backing down the driveway toward his car. "Goodnight, Ella."

I shut the door and turned back to Ton. He flashed me a slow, disarmed smile—one that only half-belonged to him.

"Princess."

"Don't start."

"You're tiny."

"I turn sixteen tomorrow."

"Tiny."

I hooked his arm over my shoulders. "And you are unbearable."

Getting him up the stairs turned into a total disaster. Ton was way too heavy, completely refused to admit he could barely stand, and apparently found it hilarious to lean almost his entire weight on me.

"Stop laughing."

"I'm not laughing."

"Yes, you are."

"Maybe."

Once we reached his room, I guided him toward the bed, where he sat down heavily. I went into the bathroom to grab him a glass of water, but when I came back, he didn't take it. He just stared at me, and I slowly lowered my hand.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't answer. I had known Ton for years—his mocking smiles, his protective streak, his sudden tempers, and his dark moods. But I didn't know this look. I should have walked out. He was drunk, way too drunk. Yet, when his fingers closed around my hand, I didn't pull away.

"Stay."

I sat down on the edge of the mattress beside him. He looked down at our joined hands in silence.

"Why are you always here?"

"Where else would I be? I live here."

He shook his head. "That's not what I mean."

So I told him the truth. A truth I never would have had the courage to voice under any other circumstances.

"Because there's only you."

The rest belonged to a night I had never managed to forget. A blurred, overwhelming night, far too heavy for me to fully process, where the boundaries that had always kept us apart simply eroded. That night, just hours before my sixteenth birthday, Ton became my first time. And the next morning, I was entirely convinced that nothing would ever be the same again.

I got up early after a nearly sleepless night, making breakfast just to keep my hands moving. My heart felt simultaneously weightless and crushed. I didn't know what Ton would say, or what we were supposed to become now; I only knew that, to me, last night meant everything.

When his heavy footsteps finally echoed on the stairs, I turned around. He appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair a messy bird's nest, his face tight with pure physical misery.

"I'm going to die."

I swallowed down a nervous smile. "Good morning to you, too."

He sat down, resting his forearms heavily on the table. "My head has never hurt this bad."

I set a glass of water down in front of him. "Drink."

He complied, then looked up at me over the rim. "Did Ray bring me home?"

I froze. "Yeah."

"I don't remember anything after..." He trailed off, grimacing as if trying to piece his memories back together, and my smile completely vanished.

"Nothing?"

"A few pieces. Not much." He rubbed a hand over his face before looking back up at me. "Did I do something stupid?"

I didn't answer.

"Ella?"

I could have told him. For a split second, I wanted to with everything I had. I wanted to tell him it wasn't stupid—that to me, it never could be. I wanted him to remember my confession, his hand in mine, us. But he remembered nothing. And suddenly, everything that had felt so full of possibility a few minutes ago became terrifying. Mina. Billy. Our house, our family. Ton and me. Everything that could shift. Everything I could lose.

So I looked down at his glass.

"No. Nothing happened."

My voice sounded shockingly normal. He stared at me for another second, and then his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Good."

One word, nothing more. And I realized, that morning, that I would be the only one left carrying the weight of that night.

***

"Ella?"

I jumped. The car had stopped, and we weren't on campus. Ton was unbuckling his seatbelt.

"What are we doing here?"

"Two minutes."

He got out without explaining. I recognized the house right away: it was Émilie's. By the time I turned my head, he was already at the gate. What was he up to?

A moment later, the front door opened and Émilie appeared. I sat up straighter.

"But…"

She came down to the car with a huge smile and opened the back door.

"Surprise!"

I twisted all the way around.

"What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you too."

"No, but…"

Ton got back behind the wheel, and my eyes darted between the two of them.

"Hold on."

He started the car.

"What?"

"Since when do you two plan things behind my back?"

Émilie burst out laughing.

"Hi, Ella."

"Hi. Now answer me."

"I'm coming with you."

"Yeah, I got that part."

And I was thrilled, genuinely. Émilie had been my best friend since we were kids, and knowing she'd be with me on this first day was already easing my nerves. Still, one detail bothered me. I turned to Ton.

"How did you get hold of her?"

He kept his eyes on the road.

"With my phone."

"Hilarious. How do you have her number?"

There was a tiny silence. I turned back to Émilie, who was suddenly staring out the window with suspicious interest.

"Émilie?"

"What?"

"Ton has your number?"

"Apparently."

"Since when?"

Ton sighed.

"Ella."

"What, Ella?"

"It's a phone number."

"I know what a phone number is, thanks."

Émilie finally met my eyes, and I knew her far too well not to see she was hiding something. An unpleasant thought crossed my mind. It was probably stupid, but it was stubborn enough that it wouldn't go away.

"Is something going on between you two?"

Émilie's eyes went wide.

"What?"

"Seriously?" Ton said, shooting me a look.

"I'm just asking."

"Well, never ask that again," Émilie shot back.

Her outrage was so instant that I felt ridiculous immediately.

"I just wanted…"

I broke off because my phone had buzzed in my hand. I looked down.

Émilie: I know how you feel about him. I'd never do that to you. Never.

I glanced up at the rearview mirror. Émilie was watching me, dead serious. She really did know. She'd known for a long time how I felt about Ton, and she knew about that night too, the night Ton had no memory of. I simply typed: Okay. Got it.

Ton looked from one of us to the other: me bent over my screen, Émilie bent over hers.

"You two are weird."

"Drive," we said, almost in unison.

Émilie burst out laughing, I joined in, and for a few minutes everything felt simple again.

Once we got to campus, Ton found a spot and turned to face us.

"You know where you're going?"

"Yes," Émilie said.

"Ella?"

I shot him a dark look.

"I'm eighteen."

"True," he said with a smile. "I forgot."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

I got out before he could see my face, because unfortunately, on that point, he was right.

* * *

The morning went by faster than I'd expected. Émilie and I didn't share all our classes, but knowing she was somewhere on campus was enough to make the first day less intimidating. We met up at noon, and I hadn't forgotten a thing.

"Now that Ton's not here, you're going to explain."

Émilie unscrewed the cap of her water bottle.

"Explain what?"

"His number in your phone."

"You never let anything go."

"Nope."

She sighed.

"He wanted to set up this morning without telling you."

"And he needed your number before today to do that?"

She looked at me a second too long.

"Émilie."

"Ella, there's nothing going on between Ton and me."

"That's not what I asked."

"But it's what you're worried about."

I went quiet. She set her bottle down.

"You know I'd never do that to you. So stop tormenting yourself over this."

"You're dodging my question."

"Because there's nothing interesting to tell."

I stared at her. She held my gaze with a calm that was almost too perfect. I could have pushed, but I didn't, because she was right about one thing: I trusted her. So I let it go. For now.

* * *

Later that day, I ran into a boy. Literally. I took a corner too fast, slammed straight into someone, and my papers went flying across the floor.

"Great."

"Sorry."

We both crouched down at the same time, but a hand got there before mine.

"First day?"

I looked up. The boy crouching in front of me had an easy, relaxed smile. There was nothing flirty or calculated about it. He just seemed to find the whole thing genuinely funny.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're holding your campus map upside down."

I looked down. He was right.

"I was checking whether you were paying attention."

"Of course you were."

He handed me my papers.

"Gabriel. Gabriel Bennett."

"Ella. Ella Wallace."

"Nice to meet you, Ella-who-reads-maps-perfectly."

I smiled despite myself.

"Nice to meet you, Gabriel-who-knocks-people-over-in-hallways."

"You ran into me."

"No witnesses."

"I'll find some."

We kept talking. He was taking the same classes as me, which made the conversation even easier. We talked about our subjects, some of the professors and the campus, and I even ended up laughing for real.

Then his expression changed, just barely. His eyes left my face and settled on something behind me, and I turned around.

Ton was walking up the path toward us. He finished before me that day. He knew my schedule. Of course he knew my schedule. For a split second, I thought he'd just come to pick me up. Then I saw his face.

I'd almost never seen him like this. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Gabriel. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders were tense, and the closer he got, the colder his features became. Gabriel wasn't smiling anymore. Neither was I.

"Ton?"

He didn't answer. His eyes never left Gabriel.

And for the first time since I'd known him, I didn't recognize the anger on his face at all.