Sister Assassin by Kiersten White

you.”
    â€œYou can’t,” she says, and her voice is hollow. “It’s my job to take care of you.”
    I’m taken back to when I was seven and she was five. We were in our second house, the one without any stairs. I was putting together puzzles in the family room, feeling their contours to match the edges. When I finished I needed Fia to come in and tell me what the pictures were. But I was way better at puzzles than her; I always finished them first.
    I heard the kitchen door slam. “What were you thinking?” My mother’s voice, high and sharp and sweet, was shrill with panic. “Greg, call the doctor.”
    â€œShe’ll be okay.” Dad’s voice was warm. It made me think of blankets straight out of the dryer, sticky with static, thrown around our shoulders. I didn’t remember much of what either of them looked like—just vague ideas of brown hair and long, long legs.
    â€œShe could have done permanent damage! Fia, sweetheart, you never stare straight at the sun! You could go blind!”
    Fia’s voice came out laced with tears. “I wanted to.”
    â€œYou wanted to go blind?”
    â€œSo I could be like Annie. I want to be like Annie. You said you were getting her a dog.”
    â€œOh, sweetheart. We won’t get the dog for a long time. And you don’t want to be blind. If you were blind, too, who would take care of Annie? It’s your job to take care of her. You’re very special. Usually big sisters are in charge of little sisters, but in our family it’s the opposite. Can you do that? Can you take care of her?”
    â€œI can! I will.” Fia’s little voice was solemn with the weight of responsibility.
    I picked up my puzzle and pushed it, piece by piece, out the open window. I’d always thought I was there to help Fia. To calm her down when she got too angry, to comfort her when she got too sad, to tell her to shut up when she was being obnoxious.
    After that she held my hand more. I let her. But I didn’t look for ways to help her anymore. She was the special one, apparently.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I whisper now, running her hair through my fingers. “I’ve been so selfish. You know you don’t have to take care of me, right? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not your responsibility. If you want to leave . . . ” I swallow hard. I don’t want to leave. I’ve even been thinking about going to college close by and asking Clarice if I can stay on as a sort of resident adviser, though more than half the girls we started with are gone now. Eden and I both want to stay. Her family is seriously screwed up—she lives at the school all the time, too, even holidays. We’ll go to college together, in the city. Maybe I’ll be a teacher here, after I get my degree. Help girls like Eden and me, help them understand themselves, know they aren’t crazy.
    I take a deep breath. “You can. You can leave, if you want to. We’ll find Aunt Ellen. You don’t have to feel bad. You don’t have to stay at the school because of me.” I reach down for her hand.
    She rips it away like I’ve burned her, sits up, shoves herself off me. “I don’t have to stay, huh? I don’t have to stay? I’m only here because of you! This is your fault! All of it!”
    I frown, hurt. “I didn’t make you come!”
    â€œIt’s your fault I’m all you have! You let Mom and Dad die! You saw what was going to happen. You SAW it. And you didn’t stop it! If you hadn’t let them die, we’d never be here in the first place! Everything would be okay! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”
    Fia, who said she never blamed me, who promised me, promised me, had blamed me this whole time.
    â€œGet out of my room,” I say.
    â€œMake me.”
    â€œGET OUT OF MY ROOM! GET OUT OF MY LIFE!” The slamming door is my only