ron

Seven years ago, my mother got married, and I gained a half-brother, Ron—three years older, always sullen and silent. I was 12, and I tried to befriend him, but he just brushed me off. Over time, we learned to just live next to each other, like strangers.

In ninth grade, Nastya started showing up—a popular girl who didn't like that I was "that Ron's sister." First, there were the sidelong glances, then the pushes, the broken things, and the rumors. I kept quiet. Who should I complain to? Ron, who never cared?

I withdrew, hiding at school and in my room at home. Sometimes I caught his gaze, but I convinced myself he didn't care.

That was until one winter evening when my parents left, leaving us alone. I couldn't pretend anymore. And for the first time in seven years, Ron really looked at me and asked:

— Tell me who is offending you.