Little Sister.

“Look! It’s my little sister!”

I’m a 14-year-old geek gone cheerleader, and I’m a freshman. Today is my first day of high school, and my chances of dating have just been completely shattered.

You guessed it; I am the little sister of the guy that’s yelling down the length of the freshman hallway. He’s a senior, and the captain of the very first football team our school of 300 has ever had. Thankfully, he’s left his usual posse at their table in the commons, so only my freshman peers get to witness our family reunion. The rest of the freshman cheerleaders are noticeably swooning as he walks by.

Well, at least I won’t have any problem keeping my female friends around.

It’s one minute later that I realize I’ve been duped. He’s closing in on me when a set of lanky arms tumble out from behind my brother and squeeze my freshly stored breath from my lungs. Every girl’s eyes light up as mine bug out of my head.

“Happy first day sis! Don’t forget, I’ll kill any boy that talks to you!”

I don’t regain my breath in time to reply, or the use of my muscles in time to punch him. He smiles and wanders away, high-fiving my brother and throwing a glance at every admiring female.

Damnit, Andrew. Couldn’t I have at least had until lunch?

This wasn’t an uncommon event. In fact, it was more like everyday life for me by this point, and it all started with an introduction.

I’m an awkward 8-year-old with glasses as thick as a pencil. I just got home from my first week of second grade at our new school in Indianapolis, where our family had just moved. My big brother Jordan bursts through the door, beaming with excitement.

“Andrew Landes.”

My brother repeated his name as my prepubescent heart skipped a beat. Standing in front of him, I realize exactly how lame my black stretch pants adorned with candy corn and matching sweatshirt are. I pull at my clothes with one hand as I extend the other for an awkward, childish handshake.

This is when his smile made its debut in my life. It seemed to consume his face, from the way his ears raised an inch to the slight flare of his nostrils, revealing the chiseled jaw and sparkling teeth of a soap opera stud. My little heart was putty as he extended both arms and swallowed me in his lanky limbs without hesitation. My face feel just below his armpit, and the mixture of Old Spice and faint remnants of a recess soccer game entranced me. He let go, I smiled back, and I swear I felt my corkscrew curls tighten.

Please, God, never make us move ever again.

This impression never really wore off. His charm (but mostly his smile) got him out of everything when it came to me; Jordan didn’t have the same luxury. The two of them were always making me laugh, cry, or learn something. No matter what, they were sure they knew what was best for me. In all honesty? They did. They were protective without apology, and I knew anyone that was meant to be in my life would fight through them to get to me.

I’m a 16-year-old girly girl, attempting to study for my first ACT test. It’s late, and I probably shouldn’t have friends over. We surf Myspace and talk about everyone at school until it’s 1 am.

I should really be in bed.

“HillBill!”

All my friends gasp and turn red. It’s Andrew, and he’s slurring. He makes his way up the stairs and sits in the chair nearest to me; he pulls it forward until he’s uncomfortably close to my face. Reeking of my dad’s Jack Daniels, he flings his spaghetti arm around me.

“You know, I’ve decided. We’re gonna get married one day.”

You’ve probably guessed what closely follows this eloquent slur of a sentence- his smile, still enough to stop my now completely boy crazy heart. It’s sloppy and paired with squinting eyes, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Of course we will, Andrew. You’ve promised to kill any other guy that tries to marry me!”

It’s a complete miracle that he made it up the stairs; I have to support all six feet of him down the two flights of stairs to the basement. He flashes me one more goofy grin before he disappears.

I don’t think I’d mind having him around for the rest of my life.

I never doubted that Andrew was the only guy that would ever make it through the build-in security guard I had in Jordan. At this point, I had pretty much accepted that any boy I tried to like would inevitably get scared off. Homecoming dates, spring break flings- eventually my big brothers got wind of them, and I was back to square one. Marrying Andrew in the future was starting to look like more of a possibility and less of a drunken proposal.

Just watch, it’ll happen, and I won’t be surprised at all.

I’m an 18-year-old student in my first semester of college, decked out in sweatpants and ready for a nap. Just as I crawl into bed, my phone rings, and I’m not surprised to see the name of the one person with the ability to call at incredibly inconvenient times. I put the phone to my ear with a scold.

“Hill. I just wanted you to know that I just got off the phone with some people… and… Andrew Landes died today. He was hit by a car while he was working.”

The angry eyes I’d practiced melt into the phone, and I fight a twitch in my hand that urges me to clean my ears.

Oh my god.

I’m not even sure if I said it out loud. My brother sniffs on the other end. I’m almost sure I can hear his hands shaking. I blurt out something that I think was supposed to be “Are you okay to drive?”

“I’ll be fine… I’m just going to Indy now… I’m just really confused Hill… I don’t… anyway, I have to go. I love you.”

I tried to tell him I was there for him, but I stopped myself. Everyone says that. He doesn’t need me to. He knows.

He ended the call, and the line was dead. Dead.

Oh my god.

This is where I burst into tears. I hadn’t seen his smile in months, and now… now I never could. That pivotal smile was the only thing I could see, and the walls of my dorm room melted behind the waterworks I flooded my eyesight with. When it cleared, all I could do was look at old wall posts on Facebook. He called me little sister in every single one.

I’m a sobbing 18-year old mess, only one week older. It’s the day of the funeral, and my brother stands dutifully beside the shiny wooden box holding his best friend. I can almost see his white knuckles through his gloves. The pastor speaks, but I’m momentarily deaf.

“I’m gonna miss you, man.”

My brother stands, statue still, and crumbles with every second. It doesn’t take long for him to cry. It takes him little longer to break down completely. As soon as I can, I make my way over to where he stands. I let him cry without regard to the tears accumulating on the shoulder of my shirt.

After all these years, it’s my turn to protect him.

I’m a 19-year-old girl, standing on the grounds of my Lutheran grade school. It’s Christmas Eve, and my brother stands next to me. Short sprouts of grass and a sheet of ice frost the dirt at our feet. This is where our friend is buried.

“You know, Hill, I miss him every day, and I’ve learned so much in the past two months.”

We tell stories and laugh, and he reflects. He doesn’t go in depth; he knows he doesn’t have to. I already know.

Because he taught me everything I know.

He tells me he’s learned to cherish the people in his life. I tell him I’ve learned to appreciate the time I’ve been given. A natural silence follows, and our thoughts fill the unspoken space.

I’ll be missing you, Andrew. Thank you for being my protector.