Part 3A Bright Road Ahead

In mid-August, my family held a banquet at the biggest restaurant in town to thank Cyrus' teachers.

Officially, it was meant to honor his high school homeroom teacher and school counselor. In reality, the banquet was a chance to show off to all our relatives.

Cyrus had earned a solid SAT score, enough to get him into a decent four-year college. For a kid with a serious psychological condition, everyone considered it a miracle.

And naturally, I became the waiter for the evening.

Two tables filled the private room. I wore an old shirt that did not quite fit and moved back and forth between them, pouring drinks, handing out towels, and keeping a smile plastered on my face.

My uncle raised his glass and heaped praise on my father. "Old John, Cyrus really had it rough. That kid's got good fortune, though. He's staying local, so you two can keep an eye on him every day."

My father's face flushed with pleasure. He downed his liquor in one gulp and waved his hand repeatedly. "It's all thanks to the teachers, and to Maya here. She counsels him every day. Cyrus is a sensitive kid. He's going to study language and literature, then find a nice, stable office job."

Nearby, my aunt cracked pumpkin seeds between her teeth. She glanced at Maya, who was peeling shrimp for Cyrus, then looked over at me in the corner with a jug of juice in hand.

"Oh, what about Jasper? I heard the science exam was brutal this year. How did he do? Where's he headed?" she asked.

The private room fell quiet for a moment. Every eye turned toward me.

I tightened my grip on the jug of juice and said nothing.

My father's smile faded slightly. He waved a hand as if shooing away an annoying fly. "Him? His scores were nothing special. I had him apply to the local community college for special education."

"Special ed?" My aunt curled her lip in faint disdain. "That's the kind of job where you wait on people hand and foot. It's exhausting, the pay is low, and you have to deal with disabled kids every day. Can Jasper's temperament even handle that?"

My mother cut in with complete certainty, "Why wouldn't he be able to? Jasper has been tough as nails since he was little. He's thick-skinned, not sensitive and fragile like Cyrus.

"If he studies special ed, he'll pick up some professional caregiving skills too. Then he can take even better care of Cyrus. Between two brothers, one of them has always got to give a little more."

"That's true. Jasper has always been able to endure hardship. This kind of work suits him just fine."

The relatives murmured in agreement, then went right back to complimenting Cyrus on how nice his clothes looked.

I stood in the shadows and listened as they picked apart my future.

The truth was, I had earned a 1560 on the SAT, placing me among the top students in the state.

My score was more than enough to make me a strong candidate for Noveria Engineering University, one of the country's top engineering schools.

My acceptance letter had arrived three days earlier. I had buried it beneath the boards of my bed on the balcony.

The university's emblem was stamped on that piece of paper, a symbol of the country's heavy industry.

Beyond it waited the sea of stars that would become my future.

Yet not one blood relative in that entire room had asked me a simple question: "Where do you want to go?"

Not one of them cared about my scores, either. In their eyes, I was nothing more than an accessory to Cyrus, a piece they could arrange however they pleased.

"Bro, pour me some juice." Cyrus' voice suddenly broke through my thoughts.

He looked at me with the smug satisfaction of a child who had always known he was the favorite.

I walked over and poured orange juice into his glass.

My hand did not tremble in the slightest.

I did not argue. I did not pull out my acceptance letter in a fit of hysteria and throw it in their faces.

I knew that the moment I said anything, they would smother me with lectures about family duty and morality, accompanied by plenty of tears. They might even use Cyrus' condition as leverage to force me to withdraw.

I set down the jug of juice and walked to the restroom at the end of the hallway. Once inside, I shut the door, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water over my face.

Water dripped from my chin and struck the sink. I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, but my eyes were bright.

"Not yet, Jasper Lockwood. Three more days. Get through these three days, and you'll be free," I muttered.