We lived in a suburban neighborhood where every house had trimmed lawns, school decals on minivans, and holiday decorations stored in plastic bins in the garage. Our house held all the evidence of a family that had once been real: birthday photos, pencil marks on doorframes, old Halloween costumes, school projects, and Sunday movie nights where Daniel used to fall asleep before the ending and the children would cover him with blankets.
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My older sister, Celeste, had always been the shadow standing too close behind my happiness. When we were girls, she wanted whatever I loved, not because she loved it too, but because she could not tolerate seeing me keep anything untouched by her. When I was fifteen and finally earned a spot on the basketball team, she joined practice only to compete with me. One afternoon she tripped during a drill, then told our parents I had shoved her out of jealousy. They believed her before asking me a single question, and my father banned me from playing for the rest of high school.
