This is the story of the worst thing I have ever done.
I was nine years old. Zimmerman’s Pond had glazed over when we woke up one Saturday morning. I pressed my nose against the frosted window and stared down at the white-speckled grass.
My bedroom door flew open and my little sister Sophie burst into the room, without knocking, as she was wont to do. She shoved her blonde curly head under my arm and smushed her nose against the glass.
“Isn’t it pretty, Kathryn?” she asked me. Funny how that tiny voice shredded my last nerves then.
“Yeah,” I said, biting back my annoyance. “Really pretty.”
“Can we go out and build a snowman?” She bounced on her toes and pulled on the hem of my pajama shirt. “Please?” She clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes at me.
I jerked away from her. “That trick only works on Mom and Dad,” I growled. “The snow’s not deep enough yet.” I turned my gaze back to the wintry scene, hoping she’d take the hint.
“Come on, Kitty-Kathy,” Sophie said, poking her face up into mine.
“Don’t call me that!” I said. “It’s a stupid nickname.” I tried to ignore the pain on Sophie’s face as I shoved myself out of the room. I ran downstairs to the kitchen and settled myself at the island. Mom looked up from the sizzling pan of batter and smiled at me.
“Good morning, honey,” she said. She slid a plate full of pancakes in front of me. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I said, stabbing my food with my fork. “Except for the nightmare about my noxious little sister.”
She chuckled. “Do you mean ‘obnoxious,’ dear?”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
She flipped the pancake over. “You shouldn’t talk about your sister that way,” she said. She was always gentle, even when scolding.
I sighed as I let my fork make tracks in the sticky syrup. “Did you and Aunt Joan get along when you were younger?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “We had our spats,” she said. “But we both survived living with each other.”
“I can’t stand Sophie,” I finally blurted out. “I don’t know why, but she’s just so annoying.”
“Sibling strife is common throughout childhood, Kathryn. You’ll get over it, trust me.”
I grumbled in my mind. “Do I have to like her?” I asked.
“She’s your sister, darling,” she said. She continued cooking, not saying anything more. I ate my pancakes and gazed out the window, watching the world outside transform into a snow globe. 
Sophie burst into the kitchen then, a half-dressed Barbie doll in her hand. “Kathy,” she whined. “Can I borrow your hairbrush? My dolly’s hair is all messy.”
“No!” I said. “Just leave me alone, for Pete’s sake!”
“Kathryn Louise Barker!” Mom said. Her brows were knit together as she set the spatula down with a tink against the side of the pan. “I will not have my family members talking nastily to one another. Please apologize to your sister.”
I glared at Sophie. “I’m sorry,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“I’m sorry that I have to live you, you annoying little brat!”
“Kathryn!”
I stormed up to my room and tossed myself onto the bed. I don’t care if Dad will ground me when he gets home. I wish Sophie would just die!
Someone knocked timidly on my door. “Kathy?”
“Go away, Sophie.” I turned over and buried my face in the pillow. I heard the door creak open. What does she want now?
“Can we go out and build a snowman now?” she asked. I slammed the pillow on top of my head.
“I’m sorry I’m so annoying,” she said.
I closed my eyes and sighed in exasperation. She had said it so pitifully I almost felt compelled to forgive her.
When I opened my eyes, Sophie rushed toward me like a gust of wind. She threw her arms around me and squeezed me about the middle before I could get a word out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She smacked a slobbery kiss on my cheek before taking her zephyr-like happiness out of the room. I swiped at my cheek, grimacing.
“Hey, Sophie,” I called.
She bounced back into the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” I grumbled. “For yelling at you.”
She beamed and giggled. “That’s okay, Kitty-Kathy. I forgive you!” She skipped away for the last time.
I was still disgruntled. The stage of obligatory sibling love was one I had not yet approached. I slumped back downstairs. Mom was cleaning the kitchen sink.
“Hey, Mom,” I said. “Can I go ice skating on Zimmerman’s pond?”
“It’s ‘may I,’ dear, and you may not,” she said.
“Why not?” I whined, sounding just as annoying as Sophie had just two minutes before.
“The ice is too thin to support two people.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
“No,” she said firmly. “What should happen if you fell through the ice? No one would be able to reach you. Also, after your harsh words to your sister, do you think you deserve to go out ice skating?”
I hung my head and thumped back upstairs to stew. I had apologized for my meanness, hadn’t I? I stormed around my room. I’m going to ice skate and have time alone! I grabbed my skates, padded downstairs, and slipped out the back door.
The chilly breeze mirrored the tempest in my heart. I frowned into the wind as I walked to the pond.
I tied my skates on and teetered onto the smooth surface. Ice is too thin, my foot! I held my arms out and sailed on the pond of glass. I felt a soft spot beneath my blade and skated closer to the shore away from it. How happy I was to be alone!
“Kathy!” Sophie’s cry flew to me on the back of the wind. I groaned as I turned. She came down the hill, skates in hand.
“Sophie, go home,” I yelled.
“No!” she said, running toward the pond bank. “I want to skate with you!” She started tying her skates on as hurriedly as a five-year-old’s fingers can.
“Sophie, can’t you just leave me alone for once?!” I shouted.
She shot out onto the ice. “Wheeee!” It seemed like she was going fast and slow all at once.
She approached the soft spot before I could warn her. Her foot sank beneath the ice. The gelid water grabbed her ankle and pulled her down beneath it, like a siren had claimed her as a prisoner. The pond swallowed her and washed her down with slush. She couldn’t even scream.
Frantically, I skated over to the gaping hole and slid to my knees. I stared into the water and screamed Sophie’s name. My cries, too, sounded like they were drowning.
Her blonde curly head didn’t pop up to the surface. I doubled over the gaping abyss and sobbed, my heart creaking in two. I could never forgive myself for this, would never shake this guilt.
If only Sophie knew that, perhaps, I hadn’t hated her after all...