Love, Lilly

Rikki

Noah pulls out of the driveway and onto the shady street. He and Sam are being unusually quiet; generally they would be chattering away about something or other. But I'm glad he's coming with us. Sam has been especially silent since Thursday afternoon, when Noah drove her home late. She looked like she'd been crying. She told Mom it was just 'friend stuff', but I know that something's up.

There are a bunch of kids playing outside. Noah knows to drive slowly on Saturdays; this neighborhood is mostly Jewish, so there are always a lot of little kids running all over the place.

One especially bold little girl in a red dress and wispy blond pigtails runs out into the road right in front of Noah's car. Noah slams on the breaks, and we jerk to a stop. A man, evidently her father, chases after her, his white fringes flapping in the wind as he scoops her up and carries her to safety, pausing to wave his thanks to Noah before scolding his young daughter. He puts her down by a boy who looks about fourteen, with the same dark hair and regal nose as the man, who is clearly also his father. The boy ignores her, talking shyly to a girl with long brown curls and a flowery dress. The little blond girl tugs at her brother's suit coat, and as we drive away, I see him turn and grin, then grab her under the armpits, swinging her around in a circle, her mouth open in a silent squeal of delight.

I remember when my life was like that. My parents were always there to swoop in and save me, and Sam loved to play with me. I was her little baby brother, eight years younger and cute as can be. My dad was always there with a word of encouragement or advice, and my mom would let me lick cookie batter off her spatula while I told her about who wouldn't share with me and who was the best at dot art. Then something changed. Everyone got more stressed. We weren't a perfect family anymore.

So I learned how to figure out when a conversation was about to turn into an argument, and what to say to keep people from fighting. I learned how to be still, to watch and to wait and to keep everything calm. You can pick up a lot when you're quiet, like which subjects will set people off and who is tiredest on which days. So now I'm the glue holding us together, the calm in the crazy storm of feelings that is our family. Sam thinks it's too big of a job for me; I can tell. But someone has to do it.

Noah is circling the parking lot of the Space and Science Museum, looking for a spot, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a giddy excitement building in the pit of my stomach. I'm unbuckled and out of the car almost before it stops moving. I love science. My best friend, Nicky, (our names rhyme. It's great) teases me that I would marry it if I could. He's not wrong.

"Whoa, slow down there, buddy," Noah laughs, shutting the driver-side door and rumpling my hair. I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet, waiting impatiently for Sam to get out of the car. She seems to be moving in slow motion.

"Come on, Sam!" I cry, and she laughs for the first time in days.

"All right, all right," she replies, grinning at me. I grin back.

I love these moments, when she's just Sam, my older sister, not Sam The Concerned and Stressed Best Friend (that was last year, when Noah's parents got divorced), or Sam The Brooding Teenager (this year. Brooding was my favorite word, until Sam started doing it). They've become rare, these moments, but she's still a great big sister. When she remembers to be.

I hold her hand while we walk from the parking lot to the museum.