1. I am two years old and I have been begging my parents for a baby sister since I learned to talk. Finally, she is here and she is beautiful: a tiny person with fair hair and summer sky blue eyes. I am told all babies have blue eyes and hers might change color, but I know they won’t. (I am right.) More nights than anyone can count, my mother comes to check on me in my bed and I am not there. She finds me sleeping on the floor under the baby’s crib. I explain I am there to protect her. I am the big sister and it is my job. I take this job very seriously.

2. Having a sister is everything that I ever dreamed and better. When we are five and three, we put on plays for my mother every day, endlessly performing in our living room. In the grainy VHS tapes that survive, my sister is center stage: tap dancing and singing, starring in each production. I am just out of the frame, singing backup. Occasionally my mother will prompt “Where’s Laura?” and I can be coaxed into singing a number. I am in ballet class and I have always enjoyed performing, but it is clear that my sister enjoys it more. When she is onstage, even at this young age, something happens. She shimmers. Everyone who sees her comments on it: her charisma, her star power. I do not shimmer, but it doesn’t bother me. I am content to let her take the spotlight. Somehow I have become shy.

3. At six years old, my sister’s dance talent is discovered. She is taken from our little local studio to Ballet Oklahoma, the most prestigious studio in our area, to study ballet. I am so proud of her! She takes classes nearly every night of the week and since I have to ride in the car with Mom to and from classes, I am enrolled also. We are both in the beginner’s class at first. At eight, I am older and bigger than the rest of the students. When I study our reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the dance studio, there is a straight line of tiny bun-headed girls all about the same size, then a jump in the line like a speed-bump to encompass my giantess height. I disrupt the picture and that bothers me. I try to slouch, which enrages our surly Russian instructor. “You want to walk like a monkey, go to the zoo,” he shouts at me. Eventually my sister progresses out of the class and moves to a higher level, but I remain there, getting taller, until my family leaves Oklahoma two years later.

4. I am twelve years old and it is time for my ballet class to get pointe shoes. I fantasize about this for months, believing it will be a new start for me. I am still the tallest, fattest, and least talented girl in my dance class. I wear a skirt over my leotard and tights, not because it is fashionable but because I am embarrassed about my thighs and belly. I do not enjoy it at all anymore, despite taking classes six days a week. I go for my sister’s sake. Everything is going to change when we get our pointe shoes, I am sure of it. Since we’re all starting a new thing at the same time, the slate is being wiped clean. Maybe I harbor a latent virtuosity for pointe shoes and I will skyrocket to the top of my class. Perhaps my sister and I will be equally good at something. This is my dream. Instead, I fall down a flight of stairs and sprain my ankle a month after getting pointe shoes and am out of commission for six months. When that time elapses, nobody talks about my going back en pointe. I don’t ask for it, either. I remain on flat shoes, in the beginner’s class, for the rest of my dance career. The same year, my sister lands the role of Clara in “The Nutcracker.” She is the most perfect Clara I have ever seen.

5. When my family moves again, just before high school, I decide to give up dance completely. Ever since my sister’s first lesson, I haven’t felt anything but gawky and awkward in the studio. I switch to drama, where I start to feel like I’ve found a home. Then my sister hits high school and my two years’ peace is over. She immediately annexes the drama department, winning role after role that both of us try out for. I feel that there is not enough room in the spotlight for the both of us and move offstage, signing up for tech work. I sew costumes and hang lights, watching her from the wings. I tell myself I’m not bitter and for the most part it’s true. My sister is still my best friend. It’s not her fault she’s better than me. At least in theater tech I don’t have to stare at myself in mirrors all day.

6. In college, I totally renounce anything remotely physical. I see myself as a floating brain, my body serving merely as transport for my thoughts and feelings. My sister and I remain as close as ever. As a scholar, I come into my own. I love college and I love the things I am learning. I throw myself into my studies and somehow, incongruously, as a result I feel pretty for the first time in my life. Sophomore year, my sister comes to visit. Within the first day, every boy in my small dorm is madly in love with her. Particularly besotted is my roommate’s crush. My roommate is furious that my sister stole her man’s affections. I defend her. “She can’t help it. That’s just how she is.”

7. When I go to law school, my relationship with my sister begins to show signs of wear and tear. She is studying drama in school while I am training to defend people’s innocence. On the phone, I describe outrageous miscarriages of justice while my sister explains she needs new tap shoes. Our worlds are finally—blessedly—different, and we are each able to excel in what we love best, but we find we have little to talk about. I still don’t do anything approaching exercise and it is starting to take its toll. I stress eat constantly in law school. I think about trying yoga or something, but the fear of returning to a mirrored studio paralyzes me. I know that dance or anything like it will only make me feel worse about everything. I think about discussing it with my sister, like I do everything else, but I’m afraid to tell her this. Besides, what advice could she have for coping with failure?

8. After law school, I cannot find a job. My weight is unhealthy and I am completely frustrated that my refuge, being “the smart one,” has not panned out to be the haven I’d hoped it would be. Finally, I turn to my sister. Over an epically long phone call, I confess everything: from the first ballet class to the last law school final. She says I am ridiculous. All these years, she has sought to be more like me: more mature, more serious, and smarter. When I tell her she is also smart, she tells me I am also pretty. Both of us cry. We promise to try not to be jealous of each other ever again. We realize that life is big enough for both of us to star in our own stories. Neither one of us has to be on the periphery. After we hang up, I take a deep breath. I get online. I sign up for an adult ballet class. I love every minute of it.