My brother and I are opposites. We have the same pale, nearly translucent skin, the same unruly dark-brown hair…but that’s where the similarities end. He’s a bona fide prodigy, while I gained admission to our exclusive STEM-focused private school only by virtue of being his younger sister. I spend a good part of each day fantasizing about the banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery. Archie forgets to eat half the time. I’ve been known to plan my outfits a week in advance, but my brother wears the exact same thing every day: khaki shorts and a Marie Curie T-shirt.

Still, I wouldn’t have him any other way. He is my family, and he loves me deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.

I sink onto the grass, cross-legged, dropping the pig-and frog-shaped bento boxes. Across our high school’s grassy field, my best friend, Lalana, is jumping up and down to get my attention, her black hair flying and her sneakered feet bouncing. I can’t tell if that means Reggie finally asked her to prom or didn’t. Either scenario would have her fidgeting through our lunch hour.

I give her a quick wave. I’m dying to hear her news, but Lalana’s just going to have to wait. Same as me. I’ll find her after I make sure my brother eats his lunch.

Finally, finally, Archie lifts the pen to his mouth, chewing on the tip. His lips will be partially stained for the rest of the day, but at least his inspiration is safely recorded.

I shove the box toward him and throw a napkin onto his lap. “You know…I have paper. You don’t need to write all over your hand.”

My brother blinks behind his black-rimmed glasses. “Well, yeah, but that’s your paper,” he says, like that explains everything. Maybe to him, it does.

“Half of lunch period is already over.” I take the lid off my bento box to reveal rice balls arranged in the shape of a caterpillar, complete with bell-pepper antennae and string-bean legs.

He arches an eyebrow. “You cooked for me? Should I have the number for poison control ready?”

“Very funny.” Okay, so maybe I’m not the world’s best cook. Something to do with burning the food every. Single. Time.

But I was so careful today. Just look at this gorgeous caterpillar!

“There’s chicken teriyaki inside the rice,” I continue. “You’ll love it.”

He makes a big show of picking up a rice ball and squinting at the eyes I punched out of nori. And then he takes a bite.

A strange expression crosses his face, and quickly, he shoves the entire thing in his mouth.

“What?” I ask, alarmed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, chewing as fast as he can. “It’s delicious. Best thing you’ve ever cooked. You should make it every week. Every day!”