Mira was obsessed with space. She could stare at the moon’s surface for hours and when the Earth came into view, she would rave about its beauty. She could lists stars, galaxies, comets, and planets.

Mira changed when mom died.

She wasn’t Mira who had an odd infatuation with the universe anymore.

She was Mira, the daughter of Aurora.

She was Mira, who never paid attention in class, got into fights with other kids, and talked back to teachers.

She was Mira, the girl who was always sent to the principal's office.

She was Mira, the girl who skipped class to stare out the window.

Sometimes, when I took the pass to use the restroom during class, I’d catch her standing in front of one of the many windows that showed the moon’s surface.

Mira didn’t mind pressing her face against the glass.

I was the opposite. I feared being so close to the windows.

I was afraid the glass would shatter and I would be sucked into space and die. Which was a bit extreame, but that’s how my child brain thought about things.

I was the quiet sister, the small sister, the fragile sister.

The teachers didn’t hate me like my sister, but they also hardly noticed me.

I was always stuck in the shadows.

Sometimes I tried to talk to her, especially when she would cry about mom being gone.

I wanted to cry with Mira, I wanted to hug Mira. I wanted her to let dad hold the both of us while we all cried together. But Mira kept us away; Mira kept me away.

Nina was the younger sister, Nina was the cry-baby sister.

Nina got on her nerves and annoyed her.

“Just shut up Nina! I don’t want you here. . .” she would shout at me whenever I came into her room and she was crying.

I would leave and cry in my room too, but no one came to check on me.