I’m sitting on the sofa in my tiny, two-bedroom rented apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts, trying desperately to make it through my reading list before the first semester begins at Harvard. I’m entering into my postgraduate MBA in the fall. It’s only a few weeks from now, and I want to be on top of my game. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

My apartment is modest and sparse—although not by choice. The ripped black fabric sofa is from a thrift store, and the coffee table was a flea-market find. The ugly floral drapes were my grandmother’s, and the few other odds and ends were salvaged from the family home after my mother passed away.

My favorite item in the living room is the professional family portrait that my mother insisted we get done a few months before she died. It shows me, my mother, and my little brother all grinning and holding onto one another. It seems like a lifetime ago.

I can’t think about that now. I force my attention back to the book in my hands, dragging my thoughts away from self-pity. The book about marketing and PR is arduous and dry, but I push on. One day, I’ll use this knowledge to make something of myself.

I rub my temples wearily. I’ve read the same paragraph over and over again, but nothing’s sinking in. I’m exhausted from a double-shift at the diner, and I only have a few hours to spare before I’m back there again. But instead of sleep, I choose to study.

I read the paragraph again, then start on the first line of the next. I’m making progress at last, when the door swings open and then slams as my younger brother, Connor, returns from wherever he’s been.

I can tell straight away that he’s high. His eyes are red and bloodshot, but his skin is sallow. He smells like cigarette smoke and marijuana. His clothes are dirty and disheveled; a beige T-shirt that’s crumpled as if he’s slept in it all night, and a pair of denim jeans with dirt on the thighs.

Twisting to face him, my stomach knots in worry. “Connor! Where have you been? You’ve been out all night.”

Connor takes off his T-shirt and throws it on the ground. His movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. “I was out.”

“Out where?”

“Does it matter?”

I purse my lips but don’t say anything. At least he’s away from Mitch and Vixx, his best friends from Holyoke.

Connor walks through the living room and into the bathroom. Seconds later, I hear the water running, and turn back to my book. I can’t focus. I’m worrying about Connor; about where’s he’s been, what he might have done, and what I’ll have to put up with now that he’s back.

Ever since our mom died four years ago, I’ve been taking care of Connor, but it hasn’t been easy. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder from growing up without a father, but since Mom died, he’s been out of control. It’s like he feels the world owes him something, and he’s determined to take it.

At nineteen years old, he should be stepping into adulthood. Instead, it’s my job to look after him and keep him out of trouble. Just like I promised Mom I would.

Twenty minutes later, Connor emerges in sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt. He flops down onto the sofa next to me and opens a can of soda. Without considering that I’m reading, he picks up the remote and turns on the TV to some motorsports show. The revving of the engines and whiny voice of the commentator quickly bores into my skull.

With a sigh, I snap my book shut and stand up from the sofa. “I’m going to read in my room for a while.”

Connor doesn’t look up. I frown and head toward my bedroom. Suddenly, he twists in his chair and calls, “Lissy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow some cash?”

My shoulders slump. “What for, Connor? You’ve been out all night. Can’t you have a night in for once?”

“It’s for other stuff. You know, groceries and shit.”

“Groceries?” I repeat, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. “When was the last time you bought groceries, huh?” I go to the kitchen in the open plan kitchen/living room and pull open the fridge to gesture at the empty shelves inside. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I hardly have money for food, let alone cash to waste on whatever.”

“I need socks,” Connor argues. He points down at his feet. His socks have holes in the soles.

I feel my resolve wavering. I know he’s probably going to use the money to buy weed. “I really can’t afford to give you money to waste.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Connor flares. He slams his hands down on the sofa, his trademark temper rearing its ugly head. “You’ve always got a problem, don’t you? You can’t even give me ten bucks for socks? I’ll just wear them until they fall off. How about I walk around in shoes with holes in them, too, huh? I’ll get a stick with a cloth on the end and walk around with my lunch slung over my shoulder like a hobo. Thanks, sis. You’re awesome.”

My chin wobbles. Connor says the most scathing things, and no matter how many times he throws insults my way, his words always sting.

I fumble in my purse to find my money to give him the last ten bucks I have until my next paycheck.

I hand it to him, and he snatches it out of my hand without so much as a “thank you.” I take a deep breath to hold back tears.

He’s going through things. It’s your job to understand and be there for him.

“What are you going to do today?” I ask. “Go to the mall?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“They’re running a job fair downtown today. Maybe you should swing by.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Think of everything you could do with your own paycheck,” I encourage. “You could get your own place, buy whatever you wanted.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You can’t wait to get rid of me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

I take a deep, patient breath. “I’m going to be working tonight. There’s a frozen pizza you can have. Will you be all right?”

“I think I’ll survive.”

I nod slowly, but Connor’s not looking at me; his eyes are glued to the TV. I stare at the back of his head, his dark hair just long enough to begin to curl. I close my eyes and picture Mom’s smiling face and waves of tightly curled hair like Julia Roberts. Her memory gives me the strength to quietly turn away.

We only have each other.