Thirteen. That’s how old my sister was when she died.
One Year Earlier…
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Finlee, happy birthday to you!” It was just our family: Mom, Dad, Finlee, and me.
I glanced at Finlee right as she was leaning down to blow out the candles on her cake. We locked eyes. Her brown hair was braided down her back, and her stormy grey eyes were bright, as if there were a few rays of sun peeking through the storm clouds. She smiled at me and I grinned back. She was thirteen. An official teenager.
“Come over here, Emerson!” Finlee pats the empty seat next to her. Confused, I walk over and plop down in the chair. It’s not until she says, “On a count of three,” that I realize she wants me to help her blow out her candles. “One… two… three!” We snuffed out the burning candles with one big woosh!
“What did you wish for?” I asked Finlee.
“For me to have an awesome thirteenth year,” she replied. “What about you?”
I laughed a little. “I wished for you to have an amazing thirteenth year.”
“Well, great minds think alike, don’t they?” Mom chimed in. She slid two pieces of cake on paper plates towards us. Red velvet, our favorite. We dug in simultaneously and sighed contentedly. Even though she was seven years younger than me, we still acted like twins sometimes.
“Smile!” Dad said, snapping photos of us with his phone. Finlee beamed and so did I.
After Dad was done with the photos, I whispered to Finlee, “Hey, do you want to go to the mall or something?”
She whispered back excitedly, “Yes!”
“You’re going to have the best day of your life!” I said.
I was determined to make that come true.
The mall was packed. Families milled around, toddlers shrieked, and couples held hands everywhere. Finlee and I had already taken a detour for ice cream, so by the time we got there, I was full with sugar.
“Where do you want to go first?” I asked as soon as we stepped off the escalator on the second floor.
Finlee’s face practically glowed with anticipation. “All the clothes stores!” And so we did. We bounced from one store to another, inspecting every piece of cloth in each store. A few times Finlee spotted a pair of leggings or a particular shirt she wanted, so I bought her some.
At one point a cashier said, “Aw, aren’t you two sweet! A mother and daughter shopping together!”
I stammered, “Oh, haha, no! She’s my little sister!” Next to me Finlee was trying hard not to break down laughing. Once we got out of the store, I turned to her and demanded, “Do I really look that old?”
“You look fine,” she said, stifling her laughter.
Three hours later, we climbed back into my car loaded down by shopping bags. After we were buckled and the bags were in the trunk, I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. One of Finlee’s favorite songs came on the radio and she turned up the music really loud, belting out the lyrics. I joined in, singing the wrong lyrics and off-key. Soon we were giggling and making fun of each other.
“You sound like a dying sheep!” Finlee shrieked.
“Well you sound like a laughing duck!”
I stopped the car at a red light and we caught our breath. Turning down the music volume, I breathed hard.
“You know, this has been the best day ever,” Finlee said. “I love you, big sis.”
“Love you too, little sis.” I ruffled her hair and she swatted at my hand.
Another song came on and she started singing again. The light turned green and I stepped on the gas pedal. Singing along with the music, I gazed at Finlee. She was so happy. Her face was flushed and her hair was messy, but she looked overjoyed. I smiled.
Then Finlee screamed. Not a happy shriek, but a terrified scream. I looked up just in time to see a pick-up truck barreling towards us. Tires squealed and vehicles honked. There was no time to move out of the way, so instinctively, I swerved the car, making my side face the truck first. I silently prayed that when we crashed, Finlee would make it. I didn't care about myself. Only Finlee.
CRASH!
My vision went fuzzy around the edges, black spots dancing in my eyes. My chest felt like it was shattered, but I still painfully turned my head to look next to me. Finlee was unconscious. Her head lolled to the side, a serene expression on her face.
A sudden boom made my ears ring. Fire engulfed the car, and in one last attempt to save Finlee, I reached over and unbuckled her. My chest screamed in protest, and I saw black for a few seconds. Then I opened the passenger side door and weakly shoved Finlee’s limp body out of the burning car.
My last thought was, I wished for her to have an amazing thirteenth year. I could only give her three hours of it. Three out of 8,760 hours.
Then pain overwhelmed me and there was... nothing.
I never woke up again. Neither did Finlee.
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