Pets Are In The Chat, I’m Not

Chapter 3

Madison never considered me family.

In elementary school she filled out a family information sheet.

For "Number of Family Members," she carefully wrote:

5

Our parents laughed and asked who they were.

She counted on her fingers.

"Dad. Mom. Ethan. Caleb. Me."

Everyone laughed.

I was sitting right there.

No one corrected her.

One year a package addressed to me arrived.

She looked at the name for three seconds.

Then threw it in the trash.

It was a signed vinyl record I'd spent a year saving for and waited three months to get.

I searched through the neighborhood dumpsters all day before confronting her.

Holding Buttons, she blinked innocently.

"I thought it was garbage."

Standing there with the cracked record in my hands, I suddenly understood.

Anything with my name on it was garbage to her.

Ethan was slightly better.

At least he remembered he had a sister.

Usually around three in the morning when he got hungry.

After late-night ranked matches he'd text:

"Make me a sandwich."

I'd bring it upstairs.

Without taking his eyes off the screen he'd say,

"Leave it there."

Not even a thank-you.

And it wasn't just him.

Packages.

Trash.

Walking the dog.

Scooping litter boxes.

Cleaning the guinea pig cage.

Every chore nobody wanted belonged to me.

The housekeeper had weekends off.

Which meant weekends became my shift.

Nobody ever asked whether I wanted to do any of it.

People don't ask vacuum cleaners for permission.

Back in middle school, everyone was obsessed with Ethan's team.

One day I couldn't help saying:

"EClipse is my brother."

The class burst out laughing.

"Just because you both have the last name Carter?"

"At least make your lies believable."

"Wow, Riley's way more attention-seeking than I thought."

I went home crying and begged Ethan for an autograph.

He never looked away from his monitor.

"What would you even do with that?"

I asked Mom.

She frowned.

"Riley, why are you so vain?"

Dad lowered his copy of Forbes.

"We send you to school to study, not to show off."

I went back to school empty-handed.

The teasing lasted until graduation.

Later, while cleaning Ethan's room, I found an autographed photo.

It read:

To Cookie.

Cookie was the neighbor's corgi.

Max's playmate.

My dignity ranked below a dog.

As for Caleb—

He disliked me the most.

Programming champion at seven.

Published researcher at twelve.

MIT at fifteen.

Standing next to him felt like being part of the background scenery.

One day he studied me for a long time.

With genuine confusion.

"Honestly, I think maybe you got switched at birth. You don't look like anyone in this family."

Later I found a 23andMe report on his desk.

He had secretly tested my DNA.

Parentage match: 99.99%.

Written in red ink beneath it:

Phenotypic deviation from family average excessively high. Cause unknown.

I slammed the report onto his desk.

He wasn't embarrassed at all.

"I was just verifying a hypothesis. Don't you think you're different from the rest of us?"

Later he won gold at the International Physics Olympiad.

The school held a celebration ceremony.

Onstage he said:

"I'd like to invite my family up here."

Dad went up.

Mom went up.

Ethan went up.

Madison went up.

Then he crouched down and carried Mochi onto the stage.

The host glanced toward me in the third row.

"Anyone else?"

Caleb shook his head.

"No. That's just the hired help."

The audience erupted in applause.

I looked down.

My nails dug into my palms.

I didn't cry.

I was used to it.