Trophy Child (On Hold)

Chapter 1

One of the many things I've learned in my long, horribly agonizing seventeen years of life is that everyone is afraid of disappointment. Specifically, the disappointment of others. More often than not, that's what turns people into liars.

Family, I think, lies most of all.

I can count on one hand the number of times I see my relatives every year. And still have a finger or two left over. One of those rare occasions always happens near the end of November, because my grandma, my dad's brother, and my mom's sister all have birthdays sometime during the month. I don't think anyone ever actually looks forward to seeing each other, but it's tradition, so we all just grin and bear it.

That and I think everyone wants to look like a better family than we really are. Especially my mom.

The mornings leading up to family get togethers are bad enough. Mom always goes crazy overboard trying to make sure the house is spotless and everyone knows what they can and can't say. It usually leads to her having an emotional breakdown over something stupid. That day, it happened to be a stain she noticed on the carpet.

But when people actually get there? That's when the real suffering begins. Which is how I found myself in the living room, hating my life more and more with each passing second, while my younger cousins ran around the house screaming bloody murder. 

My aunt Katherine was sitting with her back straight and her legs crossed on the couch. Mom was sitting directly across from her sister, mirroring her position while they talked. Like they saw each other every day instead than a few times a year.

"Happy birthday, Katherine," I said, after a few prompting looks from mom.

"Thank you, Casey. And how has my favorite nephew been doing in school?" she asked.

I knew that I wasn't her favorite anything. Had she been talking to my brother, I guarantee she would have used that same line. People were always like that.

My mom gave a wave of her hand and replied for me, "oh, you know how our boys are. They're both doing well, as usual. We're so proud."

That was a lie too.

"Good, good... Are you still playing those drums?" she asked, but didn't sound very interested in the answer.

"Yeah. All the time," I responded.

I'd never played drum, but I knew that she wouldn't remember, even if I corrected her. That's just not the kind of person she is. This was the same woman who'd sent me a birthday card in July and misspelled my name.

My birthday is in January, for reference, but I guess people just don't remember the things they don't care about.

"Andy's teacher says he has the highest reading level in his class," mom bragged, like he'd just won a Nobel Prize.

The thing about Andy's reading level was true at least, probably the first true thing she'd said all night, and I figured that it would probably be the last.

Andy was, in my mother's own words, full of potential. Which really just meant, the way he was shaping up to be, she was pretty hopeful that he wouldn't turn out as disappointing as I had. I guess mom had figured she'd better change the subject to him before Katherine started asking about my achievements, or my lack thereof. The last award I'd gotten had been a certificate for attendance in middle school, and that definitely wasn't brag worthy.

Andy, on the other hand, was constantly praised by his teachers for being pretty far ahead of his classmates. He'd even been asked to join some gifted program.

Not that the two of us could really be compared. At the time, Andy was a fourth grader, an annoying one at that, and I was a junior in high school. In other words, he hadn't had all the life sucked out of him, and his soul completely crushed just yet. I was a walking corpse.