I try to analyse Whitney's expressions. seems unable to release any words and she's motionless as a statuary.
Her eyes, however, are a different story. Somehow, I can see the anger in those deep-set brown circles. I watch as colors drain off her face and it's all said in her face: a sudden shift from disappointed to utterly emotionless.

There's a scare that comes to me, if Whitney decides to cry, it's as if we were never brother and sister, like I've been as important in her life as a piece of lint stuck to her clothing; I mean nothing at all to her.

And I look back at the moments I lost complete connection with her, this being added to my list.

I returned from my long stay in South Korea, it was a warm spring season back in Canada. My Aunt gave me money to visit the family for a surprise, telling me she'd follow soon after with Cheon Sa, who was then taking her finals. It was exciting, I was planning all the activities I'd do with Whitney and Clinton, how we'd do stupid things at Eaton Centre, getting a lot of warnings from the security guards all over the place!

My luggage was finished, and it took quite an effort to fit all the snacks I'd wanted to give to Whitney, knowing she loved Lotte snacks. Times were difficult, I'd counted the weeks until the flight. Day by day I would mark off the squares on my desk calendar, content that I only had a matter of time left.

Finally the blessed day arrived, my heart pounded as the sun rose to my direction. It was a few hours until I got to see my family, my life and the missing pieces of my life in Korea.

I waited patiently for a cab to arrive, when my Aunt entered, smiling. Her face was calm, she marvelled my excitement for the long trip ahead.

"Henry," she sat down beside me, taking hold of my shoulder, "I know you've been excited for this trip, really, really excited!"

The worst was about to come, I thought, maybe she'd say Cheon Sa was coming!

But instead, other words made my skin tingle slightly, my nose scrunch up, as if I'd tasted something horrible. It was much more than I expected, she quietly continued on about how my trip was cancelled because of a simple change of plans by SM entertainment. What was I to do then? Send a letter to the company on how unfairly treated I was considering I had almost no breaks during my stay in Korea as an artist? No, I would have gotten reprimanded for that.

I kept quiet as my aunt continued talking, trying to hold back the tears that almost fell out my empty eyes. I never blamed SM Entertainment, I only accused fate and destiny for the crime. I unpacked and called the family to tell the news. They took it easily, mom was telling me I would find time somehow. It all seemed like an all right situation until I had forgotten to speak to Whitney, going against my dad's request to lie about the problem. He told me she was excited to say hello and to see me at the airport by tomorrow.
As an older brother and of course, concerned for her, I decided to tell her anyway. She was about twelve years old when I broke the news.

"Henry!" her high pitched squeak made me smile. She hummed in a soft tune, as I remembered, it was to a new Super Junior M song. "You know, when you were gone, mom and dad were so old-fashioned on me, I couldn't stand it! Seriously, you're so much more fun than them! Come back soon because we all miss you--"

The excitement in her voice was just too hard to put a halt on, but I cut her off. "Whitney, I'm going to stay in Korea for a little longer."

"Oh."

Deafening silence struck the two of us and in about three seconds I hear the phone crash, or so it seems. Voices are still audible, and I can hear cries coming off a source, not near the microphone but a little far into the room.


I shake the old thoughts off my head and take a clear view of what's happening now. Whitney pulls back violently from me, grunting. She looks at her hurt hand, clenches it tightly and puts it into her coat.

"Whitney," I almost whisper, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that--"

Clinton puts himself into the situation by standing in front of me, quickly covering her. "You don't have to do this, just get in the car."
 
"What? I'm saying my apologies."

"Get in the car."

His voice is stern, it almost sounds like he's forcing me to get in. I can only nod; his intentions may be to lessen the fight, if he calls it something like that. I load myself onto the vehicle and Whitney follows, only she's sitting at the front passenger side.

All of our faces are bitter, but it's no wonder why. I ruined the whole 'sister-brothers' bonding fiasco with one violent move.

One violent move in what could be a whole game of 'I hate you' with my sister.

What could possibly allow me to win? One thing for sure, to become a better brother.

For now, I've possibly lost a turn.