“I don’t understand why Dad had to build a hotel in Michigan. I loved our house in Florida.” I said while I organized some blue hibiscus in a vase. My older sister, Claire, and younger sister, Jessica, were sitting on the L-shaped red velvet couch, with their feet propped up on the large matching square footstool in front of them. Claire was reading This Side of Paradise and Jessica had just put down a copy of the Great Gatsby.
“I know, Serena. I do, too. But we would have had to come here, no matter what we told dad.” Said Claire without looking up from her book. Claire was 18 and Jessica was 11. I was 13, about to turn 14 in September.
Claire was very smart for her age. She could read books in French and Latin that most people couldn’t read until their senior year of college. She wasn’t like most of the girls at the high school she used to go to. She had graduated from Stanton High School on the Principle’s List and a 4.0 GPA, yet she acted like the average teen would. She was so amazingly beautiful that you wouldn’t even expect her to be really smart. Just an average girl is what most people saw when they first looked at her. But when they got past her looks and really began to talk to her, they were charmed by her personality and always asked for her opinions and she made many friends because of that. She was never part of a clique for the same reason. She also was hit on by a lot of guys. She was thought of as the perfect role model for many preteens and children back in Florida. She even made it into the Jacksonville newspaper a few times.
I found it very, very hard to measure up to her. Whenever I cooked dinner on Sundays, she always made an even better dinner the following day. She excelled at home economics, science, and math. And she went beyond the usual standards for when she was taking classical piano lessons. In about a year, she had already mastered it. She, along with Jessica had a very high I.Q. My parents adored them.
Jessica on the other hand was very smart for her age as well, but wanted to be treated like other girls her age, not like the way Claire was treated. She went to a non-magnet middle school and had a really close group of friends. She was, and is, still very sad about moving away from them. Claire and I kept on assuring her that she would see them soon enough. She seemed to understand, but she was still very sad. Jessica was very pretty and many boys in her class would gaze at her, but none of them caught her attention. She always made high honors at school. She excelled at foreign language and playing the flute. She always had a very fluent accent and was able to play classical covers beautifully. Both of my sisters astounded their teachers; they impressed our parents. Jessica wasn’t as hard to measure up to because she was my younger sister.
Claire had a tall stature, yet she was very graceful. She and Jessica both had olive skin tones, which they inherited from our dad. They always knew what kinds of clothes were right for them. Basically, all I’m saying is that Jessica is like a mini Claire and I’m like the runt of the litter. Jessica and Claire had the same warm, brown eyes as our mom, the same long brown hair that fell down past their shoulders. Jessica was always fun to be around. She was always bright and funny. It was easier to hang out with Jessica for these reasons and more.
I, on the other hand, differed from both of them immensely. I was fare-skinned and my hair was blonde; the same color as my mom’s, but the texture of my dad’s. My green eye color and long lashes were the only things I inherited from my dad that Claire and Jessica didn’t. Although I knew what clothes fit me best, I felt like I could never be as good as my sisters. I did get high honors when I left San Jose Catholic, but I wanted to be better than Claire. I knew it would never be able to happen. I only excelled at music, language arts, and anything close to that along the creative path. The musical instrument I excelled at was guitar, which I had mastered in about a year. Claire and Jessica both listened to popular and classical music, while I listened to alternative and rock, which usually blared throughout the house from my iPod dock.
The one thing that set me apart the most was one very special characteristic that people saw when I first met them. It was my hair. It was longer than my sisters. It went all the way down to my knees. And I usually had it styled like Sailor Moon’s.
Every time I did something to impress my parents, like getting an A+ on a test in a subject I really wasn’t good, they would come home with a test that had a A++ and so on. All I ever wanted was to be in the spotlight that my sisters shared.
“Well you should get used to it, because from what I’ve gathered, we aren’t moving back to Florida, no matter how hard we beg.” She then put down her book. Today, she wore a white flowy skirt, a Bermuda blue top, a gold chain belt, and golden thronged sandals. Jessica wore a purple halter shirt, a gold pouffy skirt, and black ballet flats: her favorite color combination at the time. I wore a red v-neck, white capris, black ballet flats, and a crescent moon necklace. She got up off the couch and stood facing me.
“We’ve only been here a month and a half and you already made at least five new friends here that you hang out with almost every single week.”
“I know.” I said. That night, I was going to make Italian for dinner. I was almost as good as Claire was. I checked the clock again and it was 5 o’ clock.
“You might want to get dinner cooking.”
“I will.” I then put the last bouquet of roses into a vase near the front door to the mansion. I swiftly glided across the room, prancing around happily, despite the fact that my sister might outdo me on an even more fabulous dinner the next night. When I got into the kitchen, there were some pots and pans set out along with all the ingredients that I needed for the dinner. I quickly put on my apron, Giada style, and began cooking.
Over the next two hours, I bopped my way around the kitchen, cutting veggies and many other tasks to complete the dinner while listening to some Tally Hall and French music on my iPod, which was plugged into an iPod dock. Sometimes, I would stop and belt out some dance moves; sometimes, even singing along to Tally Hall.
Everyone gathered in the dining room and waited while I set the dishes. When I brought out the food, that’s when they all sat down. That night, I had made Chicken Marsala with Mustard and Mascarpone and Sautéed Green Beans with Tomatoes and Basil.
“Dinner looks good tonight, Serena.” Said my dad as I put some of the chicken Marsala on his plate.
“Thanks, Dad.” I said as I sat down at the down at the table. As we sat down, a sly smile spread across my face. I was hoping that this one time was the dinner that set me apart from my sisters and put me in the spotlight, at least for one night.
“So are you excited about going to high school in September?” asked my mom.
“Umm…yeah. I can’t wait to make new friends.” I then picked at some of the food on my plate. Jessica sat quietly at the end of the table, moving the food around her plate, only taking a bite after a few minutes.
“Do you like living here so far?”
“It’s alright, but I still miss our home back in Florida; and the Pretty Committee, most of all.”
“Look, Serena, I know you miss your friends, but I just can’t move back when things for the hotel are working out great.” He then took a bite of the green beans.
“I know, I know. But why did you have to build a hotel here?” I asked. There were then a few moments of silence.
Over the next twenty minutes, we talked about what we were going to do about school.
“Okay. I have a little surprise for ya’ll. I’ll be back.” I said. I then went into the kitchen and grabbed a platter that had a special dessert on it.
“I made this cake for us. It’s zuccotto.” I said as I set it down on the table. The dessert was a special type of Italian cake.
“Wow!” They all said in unison. I quickly went back to the kitchen and grabbed five plates and forks and a cutting knife. As I cut the cake, I smiled at the fact that it was possibly the best dinner I had ever made.
I sat in between Claire and Jessica, and across from my dad, who gave me a quick wink. I suddenly felt overjoyed; I knew I nailed it. But suddenly, something was said that ticked me off.
“I can’t wait for your dinner tomorrow, Claire. I bet it’s going to be great.” Said my mom. That’s when I cracked. I suddenly let out a loud choking noise that even surprised me. Everyone turned towards me to see what was wrong. I quickly swallowed my bite of zuccotto.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Why do you care? Why does anybody in this family care about me? I’ve always been the runt of the litter. Jessica and Claire always outdo me at a lot of things and I hate it. Whenever I try to make a dinner to make you guys proud of me, Claire always makes an even better dinner the next night. Whenever I get an A+ on a test in a subject that I’m not good at, they have to one-up me and get A++ on another test. I’m sick and tired of being compared to them. I’m tired of people saying ‘You should be more like Claire.’ Don’t you guys understand that I have feelings and that I can’t be exactly like them? The only things that I’m good at are along the creative path, and I feel like you guys don’t care about it. That it’s not important enough or good enough to accept me as part of this family. Why is it that Jessica and Claire get the better treatments than I do? Just because I’m different from them, doesn’t mean I should get different treatment than them. Don’t you guys understand that I feel like I’ve been put down every time you guys say something like that?” I said while I broke down sobbing. Suddenly, both my parents stood by me. My dad then pulled me into a big bear hug.
“You don’t understand, do you?”
“I don’t understand what? What don’t I understand?” I asked somewhat angrily. Claire then got up out of her chair and stood in front of me, clasping her hands on my shoulders after my dad let go of me.
“What you don’t understand is that we do care about you. You have never been the runt of the litter. Just because you do some things different from us doesn’t mean we don’t love you. We are happy that you get good grades on tests in subjects you aren’t good at. We are happy that you cook us fabulous dinners like this. You have something that nobody in this family has.”
“What’s that?” I asked after blotting my eyes with a tissue that Jessica had given to me.
“You have a creative streak. You sing beautifully, play guitar fantastically, you draw amazingly, and so much more. I can’t do any of that stuff. You know I’ve tried, and I suck at it; so does Jessica. Why else do you think I’m good at science, math, and home ec? Why do you think Jessica is good at speaking foreign languages and playing the flute? Because those things, we found out, were our fortes. You have something that Jessica and I have always been jealous of and wanted ever since we found out you were talented creatively. So don’t think we aren’t happy for you, because we are. Who you are is what matters to us, not how smart you are. We aren’t trying to put you down. Do you understand now?” She then embraced me in a hug.
“I think I do now. Thank you so much for explaining it to me. But why don’t you ever seem like you care? I mean, Mom and Dad seem to always be proud of you by the way they look at you two. I just don’t get it.” I said as I sobbed into her shoulder.
“Think back to all the times you have done something that you thought you outdid us in. You’ll see what I mean.” I then thought back to all the times that my family had took time out of their schedules to attend my concerts, plays, and to watch me sing up on stage for talent shows and win first place at competitions. The times that they would give me hugs and smiles for the tests I did excellent on. All those times that had disappeared for sometime until I actually thought about them now. I then realized that all this time, they really did love me. I was just to busy sulking about how much better my sisters were than me at other things, and how I wish I was more like them, to notice.
“You guys really do love me. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t see or think about all the great things you did to support me because I was blinded for some reason. Thank you.” I said after a few minutes of thinking on it.
“It’s alright.” They then gathered me into a group hug and I felt happy. I guess I was really blinded by something that I didn’t realize. We all sat down at the dinner table again, finally understanding that I never was the runt of the litter.
The moral of the story is even though it may not seem like it; your family really does care about you. You just have to think back to all the good times you have had and you’ll know that your family was there for you in the end.
