Sylvie had locked herself in our bedroom, and mum had taken control of the living room watching one of those trashy talks shows, so I decided I would need to mope in the kitchen. I grabbed a large pair of scissors, sliced the pasta package open, and pored the continents into a pot of already boiling water. It was strange: There seemed to be some sort of invisible string that connected my mind and my hands. When my mind was unsettled, my hands became clumsy, but if I calmed them, my mind grew still.

With my hands occupied and the evening trepidity taken hold of my family, it was the perfect time to think. Or, more accurately, to miss. It was Owen I longed for, who could cure Sylvie’s moodiness or alleviate mum’s tiredness with a snap of his fingers. We all doted on Owen. When dad left, we knew it would be a lot of pressure on Owen to somehow replace him, but he handled it perfectly. Within three months of dad’s departure, Owen had grown so much. But we never noticed how fast he was growing until he left for university two weeks ago. I was being melodramatic, and I knew it. Owen would come to visit, and we all knew this day was coming. But I never realised exactly how much pain his going away would cause. He would have said ‘it’s a new chapter’, but to me it seemed like the end of a brilliant novel. I was sure the sequel wouldn’t be nearly as good.

“Dinner!” I called to mum a half hour later when three bowls of spaghetti lay on the table. “Thanks, dear.” She said, turning off the tv. “Could you get Sylvie, Cass? I think she’s had a rough day.” I nodded dispiritedly. Arguing with an upset thirteen year old girl was not fun, and Sylvie had been determined to be as unhelpful as possible this past week.  “Sylvie?” I tapped on the door to our room. “I’ve made spaghetti. It’s dinner time, so come on down.” “What if I don’t want to?” Sylvie demanded. Her voice was muffled, as if she had her head in a pillow. “Come on.” I said, already regretting agreeing to get her. “You’re too mean.” She sniffed. “Owen is nicer when he asks.” “How does he ask, then? You can tell me and I’ll try to act more like him.” “You can never be as good as him, you know.” She reproached. “Yes, I know.” I said, the calm I had while cooking quickly seeping away from my fingers. “Please, Sylvie? It will make mum feel better.” She groaned. “Alright.” She said, as if I had asked the most unreasonable task in the world. She opened the door, a sweater dangling loosely from her frame. “That’s mine.” I accused, pointing at it. Sylvie shrugged insolently. “So what? I like it.”

After dinner, I sat in the chairs outside on the porch. It wasn’t really warm enough to do this, but I had no problem with being cold. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to bake anything sweet. I pulled up a random fantasy in my head and viewed it, semi content, until my phone rang. It was Owen. “Oh my god!” I yelled. “I’m going to get Sylvie and mum, they’ll be-” Owen gently interrupted my speeding train of thoughts. “No, Cassie. I just called for you.” My mind instantly emptied. Why on earth would he choose to call me? He had made it evident that he had neither the time nor energy to call often. Why would he waste one of these cherished calls on me, who we both knew would be least affected by his parting? “I know it must be tough on you, in particular.” He said sadly. “I think you’re talking about Sylvie.” I said.

Sylvie and Owen shared a special bond. When we were young, the two were always inseparable. As they grew older, it was indisputable that they were alike. Owen was everything Sylvie lacked in life-a father, a role model, and a best friend. At times I wished for a bond like that, but I was wise enough to know it could break your heart. “Sylvie, yes.” He agreed, his voice sounding pained as his thoughts turned to our sister. “But you will be expected to take on a role. Sylvie and mum have lost much in their life that you’ll need to replace: A father, and older brother, and effectively, a leader.” “Why can’t mum do that?” I asked. “Mum is not strong enough.” He said simply. I didn’t understand that, and knew I probably wouldn’t until I was quite a bit older. “But Owen, I can’t do that!” I said, already starting to panic. “You’ll do alright.” He assured me. “You have it in you, I’ve seen it. Sylvie and mum are followers, but you are a leader. Now all that’s left is for you to accept your role.” I placed my hand on my forehead, wishing to be able to turn the clock back.This was all coming to fast. “But who comforts the leader, who tells them it will be alright? Who assures you, Owen?” Owen was quiet after that. “It’s hard.” He said. “It’s scary, like performing in front of a crowd. But then, you gain confidence. Sometimes the crowd can even help you.” I didn’t understand any of it. How could I be a leader to a sister who wouldn’t listen and a mother who was supposed to be mine? “You’re growing up, Cassie. Sometimes you have to. But you’re strong. You’ll manage. I’ve got to go.”

Owen’s  words stayed in my mind for a long while, echoing in my skull. I rocked and turned in my bed that night, worries clouding over all rational thought. I was supposed to be a child. It wasn’t fair. But when had I been a child, really? Dad’s leaving opened a whole new horizon of thought. I saw a lot of things in my life, some of them ageing me. I couldn’t think back to a time where I wasn’t worried about someone. Sighing, I stared at Sylvie’s limp form. For the first time that night, I felt compassion for someone else. Here she was, abandoned, discarded almost, alone in the world with no one who understood. By her uneven breathing I knew she was awake, probably mulling over possibilities like I was. With a sudden motherly urge I walked over to her. At my touch she flinched, then relaxed. “It’ll be alright.” I told her, and I meant it. My decision was sound. I would be a leader. For mum, for Sylvie. For the first time in the five years after dad, I understood how Owen felt. Maybe it wasn’t fair, maybe I wasn’t getting enough chance to be an innocent child, but I knew then, knew it all along, that I would do it. I was Cassie Burman. I was sixteen. It was time.