Crushing on the Captain

Prologue

        First, there was Nick.

        Nick, older than me by seven years, was born to be a golden child. He was potty trained in a matter of days, reading full sentences by the age of four, and even skipped second grade. Growing up, his manners were flawless, he was never rambunctious, and had every adult in the clutches of his adorable little hands. Even his facial structure was perfect; his chubby cheeks lasted until he was eleven, meaning adults crooned over him everywhere he went.

        When he was thirteen, he got an offer to go to a prestigious high school in Denver, one that promised opportunities and college scholarships and internships. My parents of course accepted, and Nick flourished. He had perfect grades, was the leader of several clubs and organizations, and even took the model UN to New York for competition. His lacrosse team went to nationals. He made the honor roll every year. He took seven AP classes. He was truly the perfect student.

        He got accepted to both Harvard and Stanford. Obviously, he chose Harvard-Stanford simply wasn't good enough for him. So when he was nineteen, he left for Boston. He called about once a week, telling us about his perfect grades and his clubs and his prestigious friends. When he'd call just Logan and me (leaving our parents out), he'd tell us about the awesome parties he got to go to. He graduated with honors, getting a masters in finance. Along the way, he'd met Lina, his now-wife. She was an economics expert, just as organized as he was. They were a power couple, their house (which they bought outright) full of labeled bins and file folders and so organized that it felt painful to even breathe when you walked in. He and Lina had twins, which only made sense. Two kids that were genetically mirror images of each other, while their appearances were different for twice the cuteness? A jackpot for such flawlessly structured parents. Nick was a good dad, but sometimes I wondered just how bored those girls would be growing up.

        Then there was Logan.

Three years older than me and similar in appearance to Nick, he grew up drunk on hockey. From the moment he could skate-which he could do before he walked-there was no turning back. Dad had played hockey in college, but other than that Logan had no reason to be so invested. He joined his first team at the age of five. Most of the other kids couldn't even stand on their skates, while he could score goals. As the years went on, he became more and more tangled in hockey. Every weekend was spent at a tournament, every night at practice. Mom drove him until he was old enough to drive himself. Hockey devoured him.

He went to play for Minnesota on scholarship, but he only stayed one year before declaring for the draft. Atlanta selected him, and he moved. For a while, Nick and I were the only ones in Denver. Four years later, his contract was up. He'd put up tremendous numbers while in Atlanta, becoming the defenseman on everyone's list of hopefuls. After Atlanta lost in the second round of the playoffs, everyone wondered: where would Logan Kingston end up?

He came home to Denver. He claimed that the offer had been the best one, although we knew he'd hated being far from home. He bought a fancy house in the fancy part of town, complete with a new car in the garage. He's been with the Dragons ever since.

Then there was me. The youngest and only daughter of the Kingstons. Growing up, I had nothing to my name. No great feats of early developmental growth. No talent discovered. I didn't even talk until I was two. I started reading at age seven. By the time I was born, Logan had already been sucked into the hockey world. So I rode around in the car, coming along with mom to pick him up from practice or going to all-day tournaments. I kept a stack of books with me at all times when I got older, since they kept me busy and quiet. For a while, it was hard to read. I struggled figuring out words. But then it became natural, like breathing or sleeping.

           Before I entered high school, I knew I wanted to teach kids to read. I wanted even the most reluctant, struggling readers to enjoy my worlds of fiction. It broke my heart that there were kids like Nick, who read for school only to earn good grades. There were kids like Logan, who were dyslexic and fought against tangled up letters, even if they wanted to read. I was determined to reach as many kids as I could.

            Unfortunately, teacher was not on the list of "cool awesome jobs." Especially when Nick was basically a Money Machine (my secret title for his occupation) and Logan was an overpaid, overhyped kid who could skate fast and hit a slab of rubber. My parents insisted they were proud, that I was doing good work, but I couldn't help but feel insignificant. I'd gone to school, earning my bachelors, but I hadn't gotten honors or been the president of any clubs. I just was.

          Over the years, I'd come to hate hockey. I'd come to struggle with Nick's golden child complex. I loved them both. So, so much. They've done so much for me, encouraged me when no one else would. They're not just my brothers, they're my best friends.

           But for once, just once, I'd secretly like to have my own spotlight. Just a little candle held to me, really. Even if it's just one person watching like I'm the center of attention, I wouldn't mind.

           I'm kind of a bad sister for wishing my brothers weren't quite so amazing.