The fear on my parents’ faces my whole sophomore year, combined with the various coping mechanisms group therapy gave me (I’ve baked more in the past year than all other years combined), have kept me on the straight and narrow. I may sneak it in here and there when things get particularly bad, but apparently the potential of disappointing my parents is terrifying enough to block out all the other stuff the majority of the time. Causing myself pain means nothing to me. Causing them pain is unacceptable.

“So, Adam, how is your semester going?”

I hear the clinking of Annabelle setting down her fork before my brain processes her question. She’s looking at me with the laser focus that she seems unable to ever switch off and it sparks just a bit of life in me. I like when Annabelle looks at me like that. It makes me feel important, puts me on my toes. Talking with my aunt is like debating with Caitlin—frustrating and rewarding in equal measure.

I wish Annabelle weren’t here today. Or I wish I wasn’t like this right now. My body is completely unable to understand or feel that exhilaration at this moment.

“Um,” I stutter, caught off guard by all of a sudden having to interact with the people I’m eating breakfast with. “It’s going well.” I pat myself on the back for saying “well” not “good”—if I thought I was a freak about language, I’m nothing compared to Annabelle. She uses it like a weapon.

“I hear you’re in debate club?” Of course that would interest her. If words are her weapons, debate club is like a gladiator stadium.

“Yeah.” I nod, the scrape of my fork over my plate keeping everything in focus. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom’s hand tighten minutely around her knife. Right. She hates the whine of utensils against dishes. I should stop aimlessly moving my cutlery around. But my mom won’t call me out on it. She would never do anything to make Annabelle think that she has a less-than-perfect family.

The competitive spirit between my mom and her sister makes me and Caitlin look like kids on a playground. Annabelle works some high-powered job where she’s in charge of a bunch of people—I honestly have no idea what she does—but she lords her upper management position over my mom even though my mom has about two more degrees. They’re constantly measuring their careers against each other, one wordlessly trying to one-up the other. I’m pretty sure my mom uses the fact that she has a spouse and kid as a way to get more cosmic life points against Annabelle. But Annabelle also knows that she’s my favorite relative and she buys me books I actually want to read, so I might be a bit of a draw as far as pawns go.