is this me?

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the blur of Marissa launching herself onto my bed. I wasn’t fast enough, and she landed spread eagle on top of me. “Get up.” I pushed with every ounce of my strength to dislodge her. With her four inch and twenty pound advantage, she didn’t budge.

“I can’t believe I was up before you.” She smacked me on the leg and pushed herself up.

“I was getting up.”

“No, you were processing.” She used air quotes when she said processing. With just eleven months between us, I vacillated between loving and loathing my younger sister. “Just like you do about everything. I hope they teach spontaneity at college, or better yet, being social.”

Getting up, I pulled a sweatshirt over my head. “I’m social.”

“If you use yearbook, debate team, or Spanish club as examples again…” She grabbed a brush off my dresser and raked it through her hair. I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut in.

“Everyone’s face is buried in their screens at yearbook, all you talk about is how to argue for debate team, and all you do is talk in a language most people don’t understand in Spanish club.”

“Half the world speaks Spanish.”

“No, half the world speaks Chinese.” She put the brush down. “But I shouldn’t say anything, that’s probably next on your list.”

“Girls, breakfast,” Mom called.

Marissa wrapped her arms around me, nearly cutting off my oxygen, as we made our way down the stairs. “I’m going to miss you so much.” She was such a teenager, razzing me one second and bemoaning my loss the next. “I wish you would wait a year. Mom and Dad are going to drive me nuts.”