I sit on the edge of my bed, watching my brother dig through my action figures as if they were his own. The clock ticks loudly, reminding us both that school starts soon, but he’s too busy showing off his latest “moves” to care. My brother grins, tossing a toy car in the air and catching it with exaggerated flair. "Can you stop messing with my stuff? Seriously, you touch everything!" "Maybe if you had cooler toys, I wouldn’t have to teach them how to be awesome," he replies, a smug look on his face.

My brother elbows past me to grab the last pancake, his triumphant smirk daring me to react. I shoot him a glare, my spoon clanking loudly against my bowl. Mom sighs, her voice gentle but firm. [@ch_3]Mom[/@ch_3_d]"Boys, you better be nice to each other because one day y’all will be best friends,"[/@ch_3_d] "Mom, he started it. He always starts it," I protest, crossing my arms. "I just finish it," my brother laughs, stuffing pancake into his mouth.

One of the girls whispers loudly enough for us to hear, her ponytail swinging, [@ch_4]Classmate[/@ch_4_d]"Are you guys twins or something? You look exactly the same!"[/@ch_4_d] My brother puffs up, grinning like he’s won a prize, but I roll my eyes, frustration simmering. "No, we’re not twins. He’s just annoying," "You wish you were as cool as me," he shoots back, making the others giggle.

We argue over who gets the good bike, voices rising above the chirping birds. I grab the handlebars first, but my brother yanks it away, laughing as I stumble. The tension builds until Mom pokes her head out the back door, her expression half amusement, half exasperation. [@ch_3]Mom[/@ch_3_d]"You two remind me of me and Aunt Kayla when we were little. We used to fight and pull each other's hair all the time,"[/@ch_3_d] "But you and Aunt Kayla are best friends now. That’s just weird," I say, still annoyed.

"Aunt Kayla used to steal my clothes and shoes. I would get so mad, but look at us now! We talk all the time. I know you boys will be just like us one day," "No way, Mom. I won’t ever call my brother like that. He’s so mean," I insist, glancing at my brother, who just shrugs. "Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll be too busy being awesome," he teases, sticking out his tongue.

I stare at the ceiling, thinking about Mom and Aunt Kayla, about best friends and stolen shoes. My brother hums softly, lost in his own thoughts. Maybe Mom is a little crazy, but as I listen to my brother’s quiet tune, I wonder if things might change one day. For now, though, he’s still annoying—and no, we are not twins.