Who I Was

Chapter 1

I love how people look at someone and in a matter of half a minute, size them up,push them into a box representing a category in their minds and pleased with themselves, move on with their lives. I mean, that trope is what I've based my life on, after all.
But as I sit here with the admission letter I received from The Academy, I hate that for once in my life, I've been noticed, especially by the very organization I did not want to get any attention from. Submitting the admission form had been a mistake I'd made, spurred on by Jen and Andrews. Albeit, I'd never thought I'd get the scholarship. I mean, over ten thousand students, applying for the same scholarship, what we're the chances? Unlike what I'd thought,it wasn't zero.

I hate that even though I want to tear up this letter and throw it in the dustbin, I won't be able to. Because despite my ego and arrogance, I see the letter for what it is: A chance at a better life for Jen, who's sacrificed so much for me. And Goddess knows, I'd do anything for Jen to be happier. She thinks she's fooled me, but I can see behind the strained smiles she puts on, behind her carefully constructed actions towards my profession. And I know too, that she hates what I do for a living, that if she had a say in the matter, she'd endure I'd never do it again. But she also knows that my job is the only thing that gets us food on the table. Because even though Jen tries so hard, she's never been able to secure a proper job.
I sigh,folding the letter and placing it back on the table. All it says is to drag my ass over to The Academy on the first day of school and I'll be provided with whatever I'll need. I remind myself it's just one year, but then I realize that one year is 365 days which is more than five hundred thousand minutes, and that's enough to make the veins in my forehead pop. I massage my forehead with my fingers, calming myself down; overthinking is not going to get me anywhere after all.

It's better to think about the highlights: that I'll be able to support Jen better, that she won't need to fake her smiles anymore; and I know that if there's anyone I'd bear this for, it'd be Jen. That's when the door behind me creaks open, the door to our bedroom in a the one BHK we live in, its disgracefully high rent due to its position in New York. We can't do anything about it though, because it's from where my job is easily accessible to. Jen comes in, right beside me and shrieks when she sees the letter on the table. She snatches it like she's afraid if she's a moment too late, it might disappear into thin air. The genuine smile on her face only grows wider as she reads the letter, although she must have understood that this letter being there in the first place must mean that I'd been accepted. The Academy doesn't reply to the rejected students, it's a policy of theirs, that the only people worth paying attention to are the ones who succeed and excel. Which again, is what brings me to the thought that's been haunting me ever since I saw the letter in our mailbox. Why would the Academy find me worthy? I'd written nothing special, intentionally so, and yet they'd deemed me acceptable. Jen, though, seems to have no trouble at all believing I'd been accepted. She's smiling and crying at the same time, tears rolling down her face, and I feel a pang of guilt when I think of how much I'd made her suffer, that even me getting accepted into the Academy is enough to make her believe our life is taking a turn for the better. I put my arms around her, holding her close to me as she both laughs and sobs. She looks up at me and smiles. Her skin, the most beautiful coffee-brown color I've ever seen, smooth and delicate, her eyes the same shade of indigo as the night sky and her lips, dark red that have made so many girls jealous of her. I can't help but compare myself to her, my skin is rough and patchy, due to lack of care and constant exposure to dirt and grime; and my lips, chappy in a way that can't be fixed even with a month's worth of lip balm. But I also know, that who I am, is who I've molded myself to be: a strong fierce girl, looking out for her sister, independent; because I don't ever want to depend on someone again for protection. Because I'll never forget where that got me the last time I did that. I was younger then, naive, innocent and hopeful; all the things I'm not anymore and Jen still is, but that's a part of her beauty, the way she can see the good in everyone around her, which is why her secrets don't eat her up from inside the way mine do. But I am who I am, and I am what protects Jen from the uglier side of the world and that's how I intend it to remain like.
Jen finally stops crying and rubs the snot from her nose against my t-shirt and I smile at her. That's a habit she's never been able to get rid of. She opens her mouth to say something, closes it as if unsure how to phrase it and opens it again. I've known my sister since she was born, and even if that wasn't the case, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that even though she was happy, even now she wouldn't force me to go if I didn't want to; so I spare her the misery.
"Don't worry, Jen. I'll be going"
She closes her mouth now and smiles at me widely again.
"You sure you want to? I don't want to force you, and if you don't want to ,then you shouldn't, but it'd be really nice if you did. I mean, it's The Academy, after all, but I won't ask you to, because if I did, then you'd definitely think you should, but I don't want to be the reason you're unhappy,so..."
She trails off, unsure how to complete her rant and taking her face in my hands, I look into her eyes.
"I want to, Jen. I really do. It's a great opportunity and I'd be a fool if I were to let it go"
My half-truth reaches out to her and because she's Jen and because she wants to believe I'd want to go to The Academy, she does. She hugs me tight now, folding her arms around my middle and pushing her face into my stomach, and I, in return grip her shoulders tight. She releases me after a moment, grinning like a fool and I know it's worth it, because it's the third time she's smiled genuinely today and the last she'd done that was on her birthday, last month, when I'd revealed that I'd saved up money that I'd use to take a bus to and from work and instead walked, in order to buy her the Walkman she'd been pining over for ages, even though she'd thought she hid it well.
I release her and step back to make her coffee the way she likes it and she glances at the letter in her hands, staring at it, as if convinced that it's a dream and she'll wake up any moment again, re-reading it, but her eyebrows scrunch when she reaches the part I'd hoped she'd ignore.