The Family Video Left My Sister Out

Vance's mouth hardened. “That isn’t what your father and I agreed on.”

“He isn’t the one wearing cleats,” I answered. “You’re trying to take the regional title today. You want the scouts to see your club can turn players into D1 prospects, so more families will pay to join next year. You need me out there.”

He watched me without speaking. Vance expected teenagers to follow orders, not challenge him. My answer seemed to catch him off guard, though he understood what was at stake. His eyes shifted toward Dad, then returned to the recruiters.

“Go get warm,” he said under his breath, putting off the argument. “We’ll deal with your attitude later.”

I left him behind and stepped onto the field.

The opening half became a rush of speed and tightly held anger. I played with more force than I had all season, though there was no happiness in it. I moved with hard purpose, tackling firmly and sending accurate passes across the grass.

In the twenty-second minute, I struck from twenty yards away. The ball flew into the upper-left corner of the goal.

The net snapped behind it. I didn’t celebrate or rush over to my teammates. Instead, I faced the sideline and looked straight at my family.

My parents were up on the aluminum stands, cheering. Dad slapped hands with another father, while Mom held her phone up to capture the moment.

Maya sat below them on the low concrete wall. Her sketchbook rested open across her knees. She hadn’t even noticed that I’d scored.

During the break, Vance called us over beside the bench. He spoke loudly while marking a different defensive plan on his board. I took a drink and pretended to pay attention.

My gaze kept slipping toward the wall where Maya had been sitting. Then I saw the empty spot.

A jolt went through me. I searched the busy sidelines, threading past people in navy and white club gear, trying to find her pink dress or the old T-shirt she wore. Neither came into view.

“Coach, I have to find the restroom,” I said, cutting across his explanation.

He looked irritated. “Be quick. We’re playing again in three minutes.”

I jogged from the bench and squeezed through clusters of parents. First I looked by the snack counter, then near the portable bathrooms. Maya wasn’t in either place.

I hurried up to my parents on the bleachers. “Mom, where did Maya go?”

She lifted her face from her screen, looking surprised by the question. For a moment, it seemed she’d forgotten Maya had come along. “She said she was going to find some shade by the equipment shed. The sun was giving her a headache.”

“You let her go by herself?”

“She’s fine, Mia. This place is closed off. You need to think about the game. The North Carolina scout was just talking to Vance about your grades.”

I turned away before I could answer and ran toward the green sheds at the far end of the complex. Whistles and cheers grew faint behind me as I left the main fields.

At the first storage building, I went around the corner and stopped short.

Maya sat on dry grass in the thin band of shade between two metal sheds. Her knees were drawn close to her body, and her sketchbook lay beside her. She tossed little stones at the ridged metal wall, watching each one bounce away with a soft, hollow ring.

“Maya,” I said, moving toward her.

She kept her eyes forward. Another pebble left her hand and struck the shed. Ting.

I lowered myself beside her. “Mom thought you had a headache.” Small rubber pellets from the turf clung to my knees.

“I’m okay,” she murmured. “I just needed it to be quiet.”

The sketchbook lay open on the ground. A gust stirred its thick pages, lifting and turning them slightly.

I started to reach for the cover. Then I noticed what was drawn across the page, and my hand stopped.

It wasn’t a picture of a princess, a pet, or a home.

She had made a calendar, its squares laid out with careful black lines across the two open pages. At the top, large printed letters announced: DAYS UNTIL MIA GOES TO COLLEGE.

Tiny boxes filled the grid. A great many bore red Xs, each one pressed down so heavily it looked almost angry.

My stomach dropped. Slowly, I drew the book closer to see what she had written underneath.

A short set of notes sat below the calendar. The heading said, Things Mom and Dad will do with me when Mia is gone.

The first thing on the list was a trip to the zoo.

The next was watching a movie without stopping it for soccer talk.

Third, she wanted to eat dinner at a proper table.

The last request was simple: Look at me.

My breath seemed to catch somewhere in my chest. My eyes stung. Maya still stared at the wall, preparing another pebble to throw.

She wasn’t merely getting through the way things were. She was marking off the days until I left, convinced that my going away was the moment she might finally have a family. She believed she had to wait for college to be loved.

“Maya,” I whispered, my voice breaking.