3: 3
The next day, the state team held a send-off for the athletes who'd been selected.
Coach Lyons had set aside seats in the front row for family.
Three chairs.
My father, Clara, Joseph.
She handed me the program and patted my shoulder, smiling.
"Don't be so tense today. This is a good thing."
I nodded.
But once the ceremony started, those three chairs stayed empty.
My teammates went up one by one.
One girl's mother held a bouquet; another's father held up a camera.
When it was my turn, the only person who stood up to clap was Coach Lyons.
She pushed a bunch of sunflowers into my arms.
"Christine Swanson, run forward."
"On that track, nobody can run it for you."
My nose stung, and I nearly cried.
After the group photo, my phone buzzed a few times.
Clara had posted a picture in the family group chat.
Elisa was sitting up in her hospital bed, wearing my Team USA competition jacket.
Joseph was crouched beside the bed, zipping it up to her chin for her.
My father stood next to them, holding a cup of hot water.
Clara's caption read: "Ellie said she wanted to soak up some of her sister's good luck. We'll all get her through this."
She and I shared half the same blood.
But to them, that thread of blood wasn't family. It was a claim ticket for taking from me.
The relatives replied one after another.
"Ellie looks so lovely in it."
"The two sisters are so close, Ellie's sure to pull through."
I looked down at the plain team jacket I was wearing.
That competition jacket had been issued last night.
It had my nameplate on the back.
Christine Swanson.
I'd ironed it specially and laid it right on top in my suitcase.
Now it was on Elisa's body.
Joseph texted me.
"Ellie just wants to wear it a little. It's only a jacket. Don't make a thing of it."
I stared at the words don't make a thing of it for a long time.
When I was little, I had a pair of spikes I'd worn in my first state meet.
Elisa said she wanted to try them on.
She ran around the courtyard garden in them, snapped off the spikes, and caked the soles in mud.
My father said kids were just curious.
Joseph talked me down too. We could buy new ones if they broke.
Later my father took my championship medal to the hospital room to prop under Elisa's pillow.
He said it gave Ellie courage to look at.
Every single time, it came down to don't make a thing of it.
As if the moment I said anything, I was the bad one.
Coach Lyons came over, saw the photo, and her face darkened.
"Your family took it?"
I locked my screen.
"It's nothing."
She didn't push it, just handed me my check-in materials.
"Six-thirty tomorrow morning. The team van takes you to the airport."
"Don't forget your ID and your medical records."
My chest dropped hard.
My ID was still with Joseph.
The check-in letter had been in my suitcase last night.
I took a cab home.
The living room was blazing with light.
My father, Clara, Joseph, Elisa were all there.
The competition jacket lay across Elisa's lap, the nameplate from the back set on the coffee table.
I walked over and picked the jacket up.
Elisa's eyes went red at once.
"Sis, I didn't mean anything by it."
"I just wanted a little confidence."
Clara pressed a hand to her shoulder.
"Christine, it's only a jacket."
"Ellie's having such a hard time, and you still want to fight her over it?"
I fastened the nameplate back on.
"This is mine."
Joseph frowned.
"You can't even let Ellie have one little comfort now?"
I lifted my eyes to him.
"Since when did my things become her comfort?"
For a moment he had nothing to say.
My father set a sheet of paper on the table.
"You're not going to the airport tomorrow."
"The hospital's set up an ethics consultation."
I looked at Joseph.
"You knew too?"
He avoided my eyes.
"It's just a talk."
Clara took over.
"It's not surgery right away."
"Just give Ellie some hope first."
I went upstairs and opened my suitcase.
The document pouch was empty.
My ID, bank card, check-in letter, all gone.
Behind me, Clara's voice was very soft.
"Mom's just holding your things for you."
"You'll get them back once the talk is done."
I gripped the rim of the suitcase, my fingers slowly going white.
So they didn't just want me to give way.
They'd already started closing the doors for me.
