Gavin’s right. I offered to speak at the leukemia event. A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled upon Mom crying over a picture she’d found of her oldest daughter, Colleen, and I hated the pain in her eyes. I had overheard Mom mention a few days before to a friend that she’d always dreamed of me talking on Colleen’s behalf. When her friend suggested Mom should ask me to participate at this fundraiser, Mom declined, telling her she’d never put me in a situation that made me uncomfortable.

Mom’s been in hell for over twenty-one years and the sole reason for my birth was to make her feel better. She still cries, so I guess that means I haven’t done a very good job.

My stomach cramps and my hands begin to sweat. It’s coming—the attack. I try to remember what the therapist in middle school said about breathing, but I can’t breathe when my lungs won’t expand.

“I changed my mind,” I whisper. “I can’t do the speech.” I need to get out of here fast or everyone will know that I’ve been lying. They’ll know I still have the attacks.

“Are you really going to let us down?” asks Gavin.

The squeak of the back door announces the arrival of my last brother. In one easy stride, West lopes into our private circle. The two of us favor Mom with our blond hair and eyes so blue they almost appear purple. Along with his white tux shirt and undone bow tie, West wears a baseball cap backward. “Not sure what’s going on, but you should leave my little sister alone.”

“Get that hat off, West,” says Gavin. “Mom told you she didn’t want to see a thing on your head until tomorrow morning.”

Gavin leads us. He always has. But just because the four of us have always followed doesn’t mean we think Gavin’s awesome. In fact, Ethan, West and I find Gavin annoying. Jack is Gavin’s best friend.

West pulls the cap off his head and flashes the smile that says he’s playing the field...again. “There was a girl and she likes hats.”

I roll my eyes as my brothers chuckle. There’s always a girl. Less than a year older than me and Ethan, West is our high school’s version of the guys from an MTV reality series that sleep with a new girl each night. And lucky us, Ethan and I have front row seats to watch West’s show. “You’re a pig.”

West waggles his eyebrows at me. “Oink.”

Gavin points at West. “No hat.” West shoves it in the back pocket of his dress pants.

Then Gavin turns on Ethan. “She’s not getting out of this, so stop trying to snatch her keys.”

My head jerks to the small matching purse attached to my wrist and I catch Ethan dropping his hand, my keys in his fist. Gavin motions with his fingers for Ethan to relinquish them. With a huff, Ethan tosses to my oldest brother my only chance at escape.

Gavin raises his arms at his sides as he nears us. It’s a gesture that makes me feel part of this inclusive family, yet the action also makes Gavin, who is already massively built, larger. His frame so encompasses the small hallway that I draw my arms and legs into my body in order to give him more room. Each of us responds to Gavin in our own way, but I always withdraw because I am the youngest, the lowest and the weakest.

“This is important to Mom and Dad,” says Gavin. “And if you don’t get in there and say a few words, you’re going to disappoint both of them. Think of how upset you’ll be later tonight when the guilt eats at you.”

A lump forms in my throat and my lungs tighten. Gavin’s right. I hate disappointing Mom and Dad, and I don’t handle guilt well. But at least if I choose to bolt, I won’t run the risk of humiliating myself in public.

“Rach,” Gavin pleads. “This is important to them.”

“To us,” adds Jack.

I inhale deeply to keep from dry heaving. Mom and Dad have thrown this event during the week between Christmas and New Year’s for the past sixteen years. It means the world not only to them, but also to Gavin and Jack. My strongest allies, Ethan and West, both lower their heads. For the three of us, this night reminds us why we’re alive, why Mom had more kids. She longed for another girl.

West shuffles his feet. “Breathe through it, okay. Look at me or Ethan while you talk.”

Ethan shrugs one shoulder. “Or look at Gavin and pretend he’s grown antlers to match that obnoxiously large snout of his.”

Gavin flips Ethan off and soon my brothers toss insults like athletes toss balls. I don’t want to give a speech. My brothers see me as weak, and maybe I am, but how do I make them understand I have no control over the panic that consumes me? “Why me? Why not one of you?”

My questions stop the flurry of insults. The four of them exchange long glances. I know the answer, but if I have to do this, then someone has to admit it out loud.

“Because,” says Gavin. “You’re the one Mom wanted.”

No, I’m not, but I’m the best replacement Dad could give her. I close my eyes and try to find some sort of center. I’ll do it. I’ll give the speech. If I’m lucky, the worst thing that will happen is that I’ll stutter and shake my way through the performance. Why did Mom and Dad have to invite West and Ethan’s friends this year? Just why? “I’m never going to be kissed.”

I open my eyes to see my brothers gaping at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You don’t kiss boys,” says West. “Boys shouldn’t be anywhere near you. Guys only want one thing, Rach, and it ain’t conversation. I should know.” He waves off the subject in frustration, then shakes his head as he speaks again. “Why are we even talking about this? You aren’t seeing anyone.”

“Ah, hell,” mumbles Jack. “We’re having the sex talk with my baby sister.”

“Is she dating?” Gavin demands of West and Ethan. “She can’t be dating. Now we have to beat the snot out of some horny teenager. You should have told me this was going on.”

“Make them stop,” I whisper to Ethan. Along with the dread of speeches and vomiting, I’m also dying of embarrassment.

“She’s not dating!” West shudders as if spiders cover him. “That’s just sick, Rach. Don’t talk like that. Ever. Again.”

Gavin sends me a glare clearly meant to warn me off from kissing and dating boys before he heads for the main ballroom. The look is lost on me as either of those things happening would require a guy first showing interest in my general direction.

Jack and West follow Gavin, both mumbling about having to beat up boys. Ethan locks an arm around my neck and pushes me forward. “Two sentences. Three tops.”

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one that has to stand in front of hundreds of people. Each of them hanging on my every said and unsaid word. The adults’ eyes judging my shaking hands and quavering voice. Anyone age eighteen or below will giggle as they remember my past failure involving a crowd.

With each step, my knees tremble as if they’re going to buckle and a cold sweat breaks out along the nape of my neck. My stomach lurches and I clap a hand over my mouth. As I fall back against the wall, Ethan’s eyes widen with concern. My gaze flickers to our brothers and he jumps in front of me, blocking their view.

“Give me a sec with her,” he calls out. “I promise she won’t run.”

“Ethan,” I warn, the moment I hear the doors to the ballroom click shut.

Ethan presses his hand into my back, edges me into the women’s bathroom and locks the door behind him. I drop my shoes and they clatter against the floor of the empty restroom. I stumble and trip over my big, fluffy dress and barely catch the toilet. Water runs in the sink behind me and Ethan approaches when I’m able to breathe for thirty seconds without retching.

He hands me a cold, wet paper towel. “Was there blood?”

I wipe my face gingerly. “No. Don’t tell Mom or Dad, okay? Or anyone else.”

“What the hell? I thought you hadn’t had an episode since freshman year.” I wince from the mixture of anger and reprimand in his tone.

I hate this illness. I hate it in ways that make my blood run cold and my muscles heavy with rage. I hate the way my family has always looked at me as if I’m breakable. I hate how I’ve been a constant disappointment when each of my brothers has excelled at so many public things like sports or debate teams.

I’m always off in the shadows and after my disastrous fifteenth birthday, I decided to suck it up and force a happy public front even if I’m dying inside. My facade must be working if Mom and Dad permitted me to make the speech when I offered. They’d never do anything to purposely upset me.

“Have you been throwing up this entire time?” Ethan persists.

“Leave it alone.”

He rubs his eyes. “Mom and Dad want to know when you have a panic attack. I want to know. This isn’t a game.”

My temples throb. I’m the weakest member of this family. I always have been. “If I tell them, they’ll send me home and Mom will hover. You guys are right. I’m a wuss and I can get through this. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about Mom and Dad. This is their night to remember Colleen, and I can’t stand in the way of that, okay?”

Ethan slides down the wall and sits beside me. “I’ll cover you tonight. Get through the speech, then go for a drive. I’ll make sure you aren’t missed.” He sighs. “I’ll do anything to keep you from getting sick again.”

Chapter 3

Isaiah

I ENTER THE OLD TWO-STORY house converted into apartments and I’m greeted by the sound of Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” still carrying through the first-floor apartment’s door. Skipping the third and sixth steps because of dry rot, I climb the stairs and slip into the door on the right.

I’ve been here since August, even though Courtney believes I live in a foster home. What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt me. My assigned foster family agreed to let me move out as long as I stay clear of trouble and they keep receiving their checks from the state.

Plaster flakes from the walls when a train rolls by, the wood smells like old men when it rains and rats the size of rabbits call it home, but this place beats the hell out of foster care.

Noah walks out of the bedroom with a smug smile and no shirt. “Hey, baby, Isaiah’s back.”

“Hi, Isaiah!” Echo pops her head around the halfway-open door to the bedroom. Her red curls flow over her shoulder.

“Hey, Echo,” I say in return as she closes the door. A trail of shoes, Noah’s shirt and Echo’s sweater make a path from the couch to the bedroom. Looks like the two enjoyed my belated Christmas present to them: time alone.

Noah picks their clothes up off the floor. He knocks on the bedroom door, opens it and mumbles something as he hands her the sweater. Noah has tried to play it off for a couple of weeks, but he’s worried about her. To be honest, so am I. Echo began covering her arms again last week.

He touches her face as he talks to her. It’s a simple touch, but one she responds to by hugging him. I once thought I had found what Noah and Echo share: love. But I was mistaken, or maybe I was too late. Either way, I fucked up.