She had always been the dutiful child.

She loved to sit with our parents, telling them

about how well her lessons were going.

Me, I would sit in my room and write myself

into stories, pretending I was somewhere else.

She had always been the beautiful child.

She never had to curl her hair or do makeup

to make the boys around her look.

Me, I sat by myself, casting illusions

to make myself look like someone else.

She had always been the outgoing child.

She would talk to every guest at a party,

making friends with each of them in minutes.

Me, I stayed in the corner, terrified

that someone would make eye contact with me.

She had always been the popular child.

She drew the eye of everyone who saw her,

collecting admirers like they were cards.

Me, I was like a pebble next to

her mountain, hiding in her shadow.

She had always been the proper child.

She practiced her curtsy and learned where

to put the oyster fork and the dessert spoon.

Me, I would use the same fork for everything

and trip over my feet in a dance.

She had always been the favorite child.

I could see it in how our parents smiled when she neared

and barely noticed me at all.

I could see it in how her instructors took pride in what she did

and how mine had stopped trying by the time I was twelve.

I could see it in how boys looked at her, in how the citizens adored her,

and in how she barely had to try to succeed.

Sure, she shone brighter than me.

I was like a distant star to her shining sun.

Sure, she stood taller than me.

I was a sapling to her pine.

Was I ever jealous?

No. Why?

Well, she had always been _my _favorite sister.