“Daisy, you’ve grown so much!” “Daisy’s gotten so pretty!” “I don’t know how you do it, Milly. How did you end up with such an amazing daughter?”

I gag. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. Every family reunion seems to begin and end with the praising of my cousin Daisy. For once, I wish someone would fawn over me. Of course, it’s not like Cordelia got a role in her school play. (Granted, I was High School Dropout #2, a non-speaking part, but hey! A role is a role!) And it’s not like Cordelia got honorable mention at the science fair. (As it turns out, tomatoes really are fruits.) Oh, and Cordelia is the one who can name all of the hotels on the Strip! That’s got to count for something, right? I bet Daisy hasn’t even been to Vegas!

What hurts the most is that even my own parents seem to worship Daisy. Sure, I get the occasional compliment-- from Uncle Bruce, who’s not even my uncle! I don’t even know how he’s related to me, or any of the Harpers, for that matter. I guess he was married to my second cousin’s half-brother’s stepsister who died in a car accident six years ago…

A cry from my grandmother, the family matriarch, interrupts my skulking. “Will you please dance for us, Daisy?”

Ugh. Daisy, the prima ballerina. I could have been the ballerina. I could have been the prodigy, the Harper family’s pride and joy. But no- those titles belong to Daisy. I mean, we share a family tree! We look exactly alike! The only difference is that my eyes are emeralds, not sapphires. And my hair is auburn, not blonde. And her skin is paler than mine. And I’m taller. But other than that, we look the same! Yet, somehow Daisy is still better-looking than me?! I swear my family must be blind.

“Actually, Grandma, I’m going to go play with Cordelia. I can dance for you later.”

And now she wants to play with me. I’m sixteen; even if I did care for her, I still wouldn’t be caught with a twelve year old. Daisy’s brother Steven, only a half year younger than me, jogs over to where I perch contentedly, albeit unwelcomingly, on the fence. I avoid his gaze as I stare out across the green half-acre that stretches out before me. If anyone else knows how it feels to be chopped liver in the Harper clan, it’s Steven.

“Cordelia, Daisy wants to hang out with you.”

“No, thanks.”

“Cordelia… Just humor her. You know how much she idolizes you.”

I do know how much she idolizes me. That’s what gives me the idea.

“Hey, Daisy!” I call to her as she trots (gracefully, of course) over to me. “Why don’t we have a race?”

Her flawless face lights up. “A race? Really? Are the boys going to race, too?”

“No way! No boys allowed. Just you and me... Sweetie.” The last word drips off my tongue like melted candle wax.

“Yeah! Where to, Cordy?”

I almost snap her head off for the nickname, but I manage to control myself. “See that woodpile?” I point to a large stack of firewood, about three and a half feet high, in the middle of the yard. “We’ll run to there, jump over it, and then keep running to the fence on the opposite side. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it!” She squeals with excitement.

Just as I jump down from my spot on the fence, Steven takes my elbow. He lowers his voice. “It’s not fair, Cordelia. You’re four years older than she is, not to mention about a foot taller. She doesn’t stand a chance, and you know it. Would you really knock her down like that?”

I think for a moment. Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I would knock her down like that. Poor dear. She’s got to learn eventually. You just can’t be the best at everything.

My mind made up, Daisy and I get ready to race. “Ready, set, go!” I yell.

I immediately take off as if I’d had jet fuel for breakfast. I reach the woodpile and take a flying leap. Not to brag, but I was on my middle school track team for almost a whole two weeks before my asthma made it impossible for me to continue. My mother doesn’t like me running really hard, like I am now, but I always was a fan of inspiring stories. Ooh, maybe if-- I mean when-- I win this race, they’ll make a Lifetime movie out of it… Cordelia Harper as Herself… That does have a nice ring to it…
I don’t even notice when I clear the woodpile, so I stumble upon landing. (You know, now that I think about, maybe I was kicked off the track team. Yeah, that was it.) Luckily, I manage to regain my footing. I don’t know how far back Daisy is, and I really couldn’t care less. I keep running until I reach the opposite fence, then lean against it to catch my breath. My lungs and back ache, and I think I messed up my knee when I tripped. I knew it was a mistake to not renew my gym membership last spring.

Ten seconds later, Daisy finally reaches the finish line. “I win,” I say, barely managing to not sound smug. “Oh, but you did really well, too.” My attempt at sincerity goes rather well, if I do say so myself.

“Yep, I sure did. Good race, Cordy.” She prances off happily. Steven smirks at me from across the yard.

I groan and flop down on the grass. Great, now she’s a better loser than me, too.

“Daisy, please dance for us now!” “Yeah, Daisy, please!” “Impress us!”

I groan again and roll onto my stomach. Fine. Daisy wants to be the best, I’ll let her.

That mindset lasts only a moment before I’m up on my feet again and jogging to the pavilion in the center of the large yard where the rest of the family is shooting the breeze in the normal Harper family Southern fashion- sweet tea in the hands of the ladies, beer in the hands of the gentlemen. My father smokes a cigar with my cousin Jake and Uncle Pete. My mother sips her tea from a blue Solo cup as she chats with my grandmother and her sister-in-law Milly, Daisy’s mother. Daisy trots over to my grandmother and lets her smooth out Daisy’s long locks.

“Okay, Grandma, I can dance for you now, if you’d like.”

“Oh, Daisy! I’d love that, darling!”

I mock them under my breath as I approach the ice chest that stands adjacent to the long portable table where we dined previously on crawfish and gumbo. I shake my head sadly as Daisy begins some cutesy little pirouette thing, and I grab a Dr. Pepper from the cooler. The sharp crack of the can as I open it is refreshing. I wonder if that’s the sound a snapped neck makes…

“Ugh!” I jump back as the soda fizzes in my hand and drips down my wrist. I see my nephews giggle and high-five behind a tree in the center of the yard. Carbonation roulette. I scold myself for being such an easy target and mutter some words that would make my grandmother yank my tongue out of my head and wash my mouth out with dish soap. As I sprint into my aunt’s kitchen to rinse the sticky soda off, an idea pops into my head. I dry my hands and race back to where the three boys are clustered. When they see me running towards them, their faces suddenly become serious. I’m only sixteen, but my oldest nephew is only nine. To them, I’m older than a Sony Walkman.

“Boys.” I say sternly. They all avoid my gaze. “Boys…” I repeat. Finally, eight year-old Elliott looks up at me innocently. “Hey, Elliott.” My demeanor changes. “How’s it going?” He gives me a small smile, and the other boys also look at me. “What’s up, guys?”

“Nothing,” six year-old Sam replies.

“Oh yeah? Well, I saw you guys laughing. Did you mess with the sodas in the ice chest?” Again, they suddenly become very interested in their shoelaces. “I see. How about I make you a deal? I won’t tell your mother about that… if you do me a favor.”

“We agree!” Lenny shouts before I can barely finish my sentence.

Good boy. Step into my web...

I lean down close to them and drop my voice. “Go grab a can of soda, shake it up real good, and hand it to Daisy.”

I smile as three faces light up. “Oh boy!” Elliott giggles. “C’mon!” He and his brothers sprint to the ice chest, grab a Coca-Cola, and take turns shaking it around. Then Sam takes the sabotaged can to Daisy, who’s just finished her little dance routine. She smiles and thanks him as she reaches for the soda.

Then she yelps as she opens it and it explodes.

Fizz runs down her clothes and chin. Even from a distance, I can see the tears begin to well up in her eyes. The ladies, who were applauding for Daisy only a second earlier, are now attempting to calm her down whilst scolding the boys.

And me? Well, I’m amazed at my good luck. My nephews were too dumb to realize that they should’ve hightailed it out of there as soon as the deed was done instead of standing around like a bunch of idiots and incriminating themselves. This paired with the fact that Daisy’s clothes (and probably her day) were ruined makes for a very happy Cordelia.

Before I know it, my nephews are sitting in a row, pouting. I’m glad they didn’t tattle on me; they’re old enough to know that snitches get stitches.

Daisy is sniffling while her mother pats her on the back. Her Coke-covered clothing has been replaced by one of my aunt’s t-shirts. It looks like a dress on her.

It’s funny; I almost feel bad for Daisy. Just in one day, she lost a race, had her clothes ruined, and was humiliated. In front of the entire Harper family.

Then again, she got what she deserved. The higher up you are, the harder you fall. If she didn’t want to have her reputation destroyed, she shouldn’t have built herself up so much. I did her a favor.

She doesn’t have to worry about appearances anymore.

I’m perched once again on the fence overlooking the yard. I could face the pavilion, but honestly, I have no desire to see Daisy. It’s not that I’m not proud of my handiwork; trust me, I am. I mean… She looks pretty pitiful…

“Cordelia!” Steven barks. I fall off the fence and into the mud on the opposite side as he approaches. “I just- ugh! I mean, I can’t believe you! How could you?”

I pick myself up and wipe off my shorts. Yuck. I hate getting my hands dirty. Both literally and metaphorically. Steven glares at me as I climb back into the yard. Finally, I answer as I inspect myself for other stains.

“I don’t really see the big deal. I won, and that’s all that matters. Actually, I’m kind of surprised you’ve never tried to outdo her yourself. Geez, I hate her, and I don’t even have to live with her.”

“She’s my family, and she’s yours, too.”

“Ew, there’s mud on my legs, Steven.” I refuse to give him the satisfaction of making me feel guilty.

Again, he just stands there and gives me the evil eye. I’m immune to it. I practically invented it, after all. Suddenly, he gives me a small smile. “Why don’t we have a race, Cordelia?”

“Um, where have you been? I just raced Daisy.”

“I know, but now I want to race you.”

Hey, if he wants to look like a fool, I’m happy to help. “Fine. Same route? Across the yard, over the woodpile, to the fence?”

“Perfect.”

We crouch side-by-side, ready to take off. “There’s still mud on me, by the way. Ready, set, go!”

Again, I’m zooming towards the other side of the yard. I leap over the stack of firewood and head for the finish line. But as I grow nearer to it, I almost trip over my own feet. Steven is already leaning against the fence. He hasn’t even broken a sweat! There’s a stupid grin on his face, all smug and annoying.

He raises an eyebrow as I come to a stop. “Wasn’t that fun, Cordy?”

“You cheated!” He must’ve cheated. There’s no way he could’ve beaten me. No, he cheated. I know he did.

“I didn’t cheat. I just won.”

I can feel my temper rising. Steven can tell, and his smile widens. I want to grab him and shake him around like a magic eight ball until his eyes are popping out of his head. At this point, I don’t even care if he did cheat. I’m just too angry.

“It’s not cool when you lose, is it? Maybe you aren’t the best, after all. How’s that make you feel?”

He’s conning me. I’m not an idiot; this has to do with how I treated Daisy.

The sad thing is that I couldn’t care less.

I begin to stalk off, but he follows me. “Cordelia, you’re Daisy’s favorite cousin. And you intentionally hurt her.”

“So? She didn’t care that she lost the race.”

“I’m not talking about the race, and you know it.”

I whirl around, furious. Steven jumps back as I drop my voice and growl, “She doesn’t know that was me. She’ll never know that was me. I’m not even sure how you know that was me! Okay, fine, I set her up. But I didn’t hand her the soda, the boys did. So they got in trouble for it. That’s just how life works, Steven. You want something, you do favors for it. Or you steal it. And then you get rid of the evidence, if you were dumb enough to leave any. Both ways work, but only one of them requires you to pay for what you want. Being too stupid to see the easier way is a crime in itself.”

I turn back around, straighten up, and begin to walk away. Steven remains frozen and slack-jawed. “Oh, and I’m telling your mother that you pushed me into the mud.”