He was charming, ambitious, and so confident that sometimes I wondered whether he’d ever experienced the uncomfortable sensation of being wrong.
If Kai brought home a report card with three A’s and two B’s, my mother would say, “He’s such a perfectionist!”
If I brought home five A’s, she’d ask whether I’d helped Kai study.
When Kai made the high school basketball team, Dad bought him new sneakers.
When I won a writing competition, Dad congratulated me while watching Kai’s basketball highlights.
“That’s great, son,” he said. “Hey, Kai, what time is your game on Saturday?”
I was fifteen.
I still remembered it.
Not because of the writing competition, but because Kai had actually looked away from the television long enough to say, “Maybe Kevin can write my college application essay when the time comes.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Mom.
I laughed too, because I’d already learned that being the good sport was easier than being the person who ruined the mood.
