My parents love Arik more than me. That much is obvious. He's the first-born son, the oldest, the smartest, the handsomest, the most talented-and he's due to be canonized any day now. Look at his name: Arik. He was too special for the average name 'Eric,' so they went and invented a special name just for him. They even gave him a middle name after the beloved town where my mother grew up�Salisbury. Me, I got all the recycled names, because they obviously didn't want to spend the time coming up with a special one just for me. Harrison was my maternal grandfather's name, Addison is my father's name, and Madison is my mother's maiden name. Apparently my parents thought it'd be funny to give their less important son a full name with 27 letters. Yeah, that younger son may be a loser, but have him say his name out loud! Ain't it just a scream?

Haw haw.

Arik must be the world's most perfect person, I think. Looks-wise, he could be a movie star or an Abercrombie model. He's got thick, longish brown hair, tidy sideburns, clear blue eyes, glowing teeth, and a perfectly sculpted muscular body. He's an iron-lunged athlete, a star soccer player who can hop around an airship without taking a second breath. He's brilliant, too, a college graduate who went through school with highest honors. He's thoughtful and considerate and kind, and he even goes to Church every Sunday. He's a conservative prep who follows all the rules and does everything right and is loved by all who come in contact with him.

I hate him.

I leaned my head against the foggy window, my half-broken headphones shielding me from the incessant yammering of the idiots behind me. I asked for new headphones a week ago, and Dad told me I spent too much time blaring that horrible shit, and one of these days you're going to make yourself deaf! Only half-hearing From Autumn to Ashes, I looked out the window, my day on replay in my mind.

I'd gotten a bad report card, had loads of homework, had been beat up by Justin and Spinner, and had done terribly on a test. I really didn't want to go home. I don't like school, and I don't like home. I guess the bus is okay, so long as the heat works. Anywhere I can put my half-dead headphones on and drown myself in music no one's ever heard of is fine by me.

It was a cold, gross day on top of it all. Having shunned Arik's ride home, I now had to walk the way home in the rain. Maybe I'd get pneumonia and be dead within 48 hours. Then Dad would wish he'd gotten me a new CD player!

The last stop was mine. I said goodbye to the bus driver in Spanish (for some reason we tend to have difficulty acquiring an English-speaking driver) and trudged down the long road to my house. The weight of my backpack tore at my upper back, and a bitter wet wind whipped around my ears and down my neck. I was in a sour mood and proceeded slowly, dodging mud piles and pothole puddles to keep my high-tops clean. I dreaded reaching home.

"Hey! Hey, Harry!" Arik called, leaning out the side of the car window and smiling widely.

"Sorry, I'm not allowed to talk to strangers," I replied dully.

Arik let out a bark of laughter, like I was just so hilarious. "Come on, buddy, get in."

I contemplated informing him that if he ever referred to me as 'buddy' again, I'd set his wardrobe of Abercrombie & Fitch collared shirts on fire.

"Walking is good for me," is what I did say.

Arik laughed again. "You'll catch pneumonia out in this rain!"

"That's the plan."

Laugh laugh laugh. Stop laughing, idiot. "Come on, hop in, I'll give you a lift home."

I sighed and climbed into the passenger side, defeated by my numb fingers.

"I was just on my way back from the boatyard. Mum asked me to come over for dinner tonight, which definitely beats tortilla chips and beer for supper! Hey, I went to pick you up at school, but you got on the bus. You must not have seen me, I guess," Arik said, drumming his fingers against the wheel as he drove.

"I guess," I murmured.

Arik continued babbling on about some repairs he'd done on the airship. Tuning him out, I watched the woods fly past outside the window.

"Sooo, how was school?" he asked, breaking my reverie.

"Mm."

"That good, eh?"

"Mm."

We pulled up to Home-sweet-kill-yourself-Home. I hopped out even before Arik had turned the car off and dashed into the house so he wouldn't talk to me anymore. Arik is usually pretty nice to me, but he's so disgustingly saccharine and saintly I can barely stand to look at him.

I closed the door behind me and wiped the rain from my face. I had survived the petty trials of school for one more day, and now I was home.

Now I entered the war zone.

"Hello, Harry," my mother greeted me, stepping out of the kitchen and into the mudroom. I cringed. About a year ago I declared that I despised the nickname 'Harry' and renamed myself 'Harris.' My friends and teachers managed to get the picture�my family apparently can't.

"Report card day, isn't it? Well, fork it over," Mum said.

How did she know these things? I hadn't even remembered it was report card day! I sighed as I plopped my heavy backpack on the kitchen table and dug a crumpled sheet of paper out from the bottom of it. Mum snatched the paper from my hand and smoothed it out. I watched her eyes flick back and forth as they roved my grades and comments. Bit by bit her face fell and her shoulders slumped. Finally, she looked up at me.

"Harry, not bad overall, but�"

"Mum, I got an A+ in Geometry," I pointed out before she could begin the full frontal attack.

"And that's wonderful, honey, but it's the only A you got."

"I had an 89.5 in French, but stupid Monsieur Debussy hates me, so he wouldn't round up."

"He does not hate you, and I'm sure you got the grade you deserved. This comment, though: 'Inattentive in Class?' Care to explain what that's about?"

"The class is mind-numbing! It's amazing I can stay awake at all! And French is pretty easy, so I really don't need to pay attention."

"If French is so easy, why isn't this an A?"

"He takes off points on tests for spelling, and you know I can't spell!"

"Only because you don't study! You're so cocky, you think you can get by without studying, but you can't! Seriously, Harry, if you just put some more effort into your schoolwork, you'd make much better grades!"

"I do put effort in! I study my ass off!"

Mum waved my report card in front of me. "Well, apparently you're not studying enough! And do not swear in front of me!"

"God, Mum, a few B's never killed anyone! And I'm in all Honors classes-they're hard! I mean, Georgie failed English this term, and his parents�"

"I am not Georgie's mother, I am Harrison-Addison's, and I have high expectations for my children! Besides, Georgie isn't much of a scholar. I bet Xiang-Xue did well. Now, that boy works hard!"

I clenched my teeth. "Of course Lin's smart: he's Chinese, it's practically genetic," I muttered. "Mum, I told you, I DO work hard�I study more than I sleep!"

"You manage to find plenty of time for the Internet and your music!" Mum shrilled.

"Well excuse me for wanting to relax once and a while! God, Mum, I got an A+ in Geometry and all B's�my worst grade was an 80 in English! And that's my worst subject!"

"But you went down in everything but math! And Harry, these comments...!"

Fuming with gritted teeth, I turned my back to her and searched for my test that I had to have signed.

"How you manage to get 'A pleasure to have in class' for one teacher, and 'Often disrupts class' for another obviously shows that you're letting yourself slack off! No wonder you're struggling in English�according to Mr. Dingle, you're a constant behavior problem."

"I acted out ONCE in the beginning of the year�ONCE�and he's hated me ever since! God, just drop it!" Before she could respond, I shoved the test under her nose. "Here, sign this."

Right then, Arik strode in from the garage (it seemed to have taken him awhile to get out of his car, but he'd probably gotten caught in the seatbelt again.) "Hi, Mum!" he announced brightly.

"69?! A D?!" Mum exploded, and Arik jumped at her raised voice.

"Report card?" he said, noticing the sheet in her other hand. "May I see?"

I rolled my eyes. He took the sheet anyway and scanned it while Mum hollered at me for the D.

"Wow, not bad!" he said, flashing his pearly whites. "Stupendous job in Geometry, buddy! I always hated Geometry." He ruffled my hair affectionately, and I flinched.

"Care to explain this grade?" Mum hissed.

"Not really," I grunted and grabbed my backpack. "I'm going to do homework."

"You'd better start studying some more, young man!" she yelled to my retreating back. As I stomped up the stairs, I heard her sigh to Arik, "Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do with him."

Once in my room, I slammed the door, grabbed my five-pound literature book, and hurled it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a bang, denting it, and crashed to the floor with shredded pages and a torn cover. I sank to the ground and pounded my thighs with my fists. My face burned, and my fingers were convulsing. Goddammit, I'd made Honors! I had all B's and an A+. Why did she have to tear me apart like this? I hadn't failed, for Christ's sakes! I'd made HONORS!

I rubbed my leaking left eye, sniffling. I worked so hard! I never slept anymore, never saw my friends, barely had time for myself�it was all studying, studying, studying! And I did make good grades! What was wrong with Honors? I simply wasn't a Highest-Honors student. I wasn't smart enough and my eyesight was too poor�it was amazing that I even pulled off B's! Why couldn't she be proud of what I had gotten? Why the fuck should I bother working so hard for my B's if she wouldn't accept anything less than A+s across the board?

Aw, hell, and Dad wasn't even home yet.

I blew my nose and wiped my left eye (my bad eye can't cry, but my left one more than makes up for it.) I picked up my dejected literature book and set about mending the pages once again. A few feet of Scotch tape, and it was fine enough to be flopped across my bed for later use.

I took out my Geometry homework and plopped down on my bed to do it. I love math. It's probably my one talent in life, for there's no mathematical equation that I can't crack. And math makes sense, once you learn the rules. 2 and 2 always makes 4, if 2x=6, then x always equals the absolute value of 3 or -3. The soulless numbers do their job, and the monotony has a lulling effect. It calms me when I'm upset.

I fell asleep on top of my science book, halfway through my mini-essay on metabolic pathways. I left an ink pen open, and it leaked a black blotch the size of a half dollar on my bedspread. Wonderful, another reason for Mum to scream at me.

I'd just finished my History questions when I was called down to dinner. Grudgingly, I descended back into the battlefield.

Dinner was baked chicken and mashed potatoes with a side of Aw Isn't Arik Wonderful? Mum always makes hearty meals when she has Arik come over, because we all know that when he's on the ship, he lives on snack food, takeout, or nothing at all. He has no life whatsoever, so after a hard day's work tinkering with gadgets in the engine room, he comes home and Mummy fixes him something nice for dinner. Aww.

He sits at one end of the table, with me on his left and our eight year-old sister Rosemary, or Romey, at his right. Dad sits at the other end of the table, with Mum next to Romey. I guess he and Dad are the two supreme men of the family, or something, each occupying the high thrones at the ends of the table.

And Arik sits there like he's the only other one at the table, with his thick arms laid out on either side of his plate, and his elbows just far enough off the edge of the table to appease Mum. He leans forwards and jab his fork or spoon around as he explains something. Dad responds back the same way, in their exclusive language of utensil-jabbing.

I sit there, slouch, pick at my food, and hope no one talks to me. The topic of tonight's meal was how incredibly brilliant Arik's latest modifications on the ship were, so I was able to feign nonexistence for most of the meal.

My luck ran out once I got up to put my plate in the sink.

"Harry, I heard you got your report card today?" Dad remarked.

"Yeah," I said.

"I got my report card, too! Wanna see?" Romey squealed. She slipped out of her chair to grab her report card, a fluid stream of eight year-old energy. Her mouth tight, my mother pulled my report card off the counter behind her. She waited while Romey flashed her yellow slip in front of Dad's face.

He whistled. "Wow, sweetie! Straight A's! Good job!" Romey hugged him around the neck and kissed his cheek. Once done with Dad, she rushed to Arik, who scooped her up in his arms and spun her. I twirled my fork in my mashed potatoes, trying not to retch. Romey completely ignored me. I tend to hit her when she speaks to me, so she usually doesn't bother. The four-foot sugar-stoner and I are not fond of each other.

"And now...Harrison's," Mum murmured, after Romey's 15 minutes of stardom were over. My stomach dropped. Yeah, yeah, Harrison the reject.

I didn't even bother to watch Dad's small eyes flicker behind his glasses, or his bald forehead crease in disappointment while he took another few bites of his dinner. I'd seen it many times before.

"Not bad, Harrison, but you could do better. You're almost there; just a little more work, and you could be making As," he said at last.

I was shocked! A slight compliment? Pay attention, Mum, you might learn something.

Mum leaned across the table and pointed something out on my report card, murmuring softly. Dad's mouth tightened, making his mustache twitch. His eyes flicked up, piercing me.

"You'd better watch your behavior in class, do you understand? I'm not pleased about these comments," he said.

"Aw, come on, he made Honors!" Arik pointed out, and for a moment a golden light shone whilst he spoke. "I had Dingle back in high school�he's a tough cookie! Anyone who can pull off a B or higher deserves the utmost respect!"

"Yes, well, this teacher never seemed to harm your grades, Arik," Mum chirped.

Arik laughed, which seems to be a habit of his. "Yeah, well, I was always strong in English. Now, math was a different story. I don't have nearly Harry's mathematical prowess!"

"What good is mathematics if you can't communicate it?" Mum sniffed.

Arik dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "When Harry works for NASA, he can have someone else write his papers," he chuckled, flashing me a grin.

I didn't smile back. Don't defend me, you twit. You're the reason they're so tough on me, you straight-A yuppie you.

"Regardless, I think you should spend more time studying, Harry," Dad declared. "Perhaps we should limit your internet only to weekends until you bring your grades up?"

"Perhaps I should just kill myself now?" I muttered darkly.

"Harrison!" Mum exclaimed. Arik gawked at me, his face ashen. "My goodness, don't say things like that!"

"Whatever," I muttered. "It's not like I have much to bring up. This may come as a shock, but high B's are actually considered good grades."

"Don't get sarcastic, young man," Mum murmured.

I shrugged, put my dishes in the sink, and left the room. I could hear a mumbling at the table for a few minutes as they discussed my moral and intellectual depravity, but then they bored of me and resumed discussing God and his golden chariot�I mean, Arik and his airship.

Ah yes, another reason why Arik is the world's most perfect son. He followed right in our father's footsteps, taking over the family airship business after Dad got hurt and was too old to pilot it anymore. He's the captain of the ReddeSugar, the lamest-named ship in the history of mankind, and president/owner/all of Redde Shipping, the little company our family runs off the ship. He's a brilliant pilot, even better than Dad was, people say. Nothing makes Dad prouder than that. They're so chummy, packed in shoulder to shoulder on their knees in the engine room, banging nails and replacing gauges and all that other mechanical stuff that's all Greek to me. I imagine they have endless man-to-man conversations over hoses and riggings about things I can't even imagine, because Dad will never waste his time talking to me about them. It makes me sick, listening to Dad brag about Arik to other airship men, telling them what a good pilot he is and how smart he is, while Dad glows like a lava lamp with pride.

Most of the pilots don't know Addison Redde has another son. I hate the airship, I hate the business, and I hate the airship lifestyle. It's all about sweat, grease, salt-water, and testosterone, and it just isn't for me. In reality, I couldn't be a pilot even if I wanted to be because I'm 3/4 blind, and the doctors say I'll be totally blind by the time I'm Arik's age. Therefore, nothing I'll ever do will make Dad look even remotely like the retro appliance on my bureau.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, poor me.

My body hurt all over, from the sore bruises rising underneath my clothes to the dark feelings welled up further north in my chest. I finished my homework, then studied the spelling of my vocabulary words until I got frustrated by the o and u in 'heinous' transposing themselves in my vision. I showered to kill time, took my contact out, and then laid on my back and stared at the ceiling while listening to Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes sing poetry about all the sadness in the world. I softly sang along, because I know all the words and I don't even sound like a yak. Ah, my Conor, you always sympathize with me. Damn, I start thinking, I'm an emo kid if there ever was one, me with my social dysfunction, familial complex, and lack of girlfriend. I am the essence of angst. I should start a band, I mused, as I do often (ignoring that Lin and I have tried before and failed). I could be on vocals, Lin could write songs and play guitar, and maybe we could even get Georgie to learn drums. Oh, we could be huge. Or better yet, un-huge. Underground. Indie. We could be poor but hardcore, and we would be cool. And around the country, girls with black-dyed hair would lay upside down on their beds the way I am now and sigh, I wish Harris Redde was singing to me. And for once, the cute girls would prefer me over Arik, and they'd only know him as 'Harris Redde's brother' instead of the other way around.

I fell asleep smiling, thinking about that. I didn't wake up when Arik took the textbooks off my bed, turned the stereo off, and pulled the covers over me before he went to sleep in the room next-door.

next chapter...