Dad picked up the insulated lunchbox and hurled it at the little punk, chasing after him.

When he came back, breathless, he pointed at my brother and scolded,

“I swear, you're getting more out of line every day. If you were half as sensible as your sister, I’d be grateful.”

My soul stood by my brother’s bed, looking at Dad with some confusion.

They say I'm sensible, yet they chose to leave me behind.

Grown-ups are so strange.

“If I were as sensible as her, you would’ve thrown me away too,” my brother retorted coldly.

Mom paused, glancing nervously at Dad.

She pretended to smack my brother.

“We’ve put all...