Page 18 of The Charlie Method

I swallow the words. I’m close with both my siblings, but probably not as close as we could be. I know either one of them would be there for me in a heartbeat if I called them to bail me out of jail or if I broke up with a boyfriend. But the deeper stuff? The insecurities and doubts that sometimes still nag at me in the night, like a dog working over an old bone? I don’t know if Oliver or Ava would be the first people I’d turn to for support.

It doesn’t help that they’re both older than me. By the time I was twelve, Oliver was already off at college, Ava gone when I was fourteen. They didn’t have to witness those years full of horrific things like puberty and crippling teenage angst, and I think because they missed all that, they’ve always treated me like a little adult. Strong and capable and entirely self-assured.

“Everything is fine,” I tell him. “I’m just stressed out with school. And then I was going over my grad school applications the other day and realized I’d been using the entry requirements from three years ago. A few of the programs require personal essays now.”

“A few as in more than two? I thought you were set on MIT with Cornell as the backup.”

Dad went to MIT. Mom was at Cornell. So of course, that’s where my family has been pushing me to apply. And yes, while it would be more convenient to stay on the East Coast, it would also be really nice to…go somewhere else. Maybe enjoy a different climate for a couple years. New England winters are the worst.

“I’m applying to a few others too,” I confess.

“Where? Yale? Brown?”

I love how he only lists places within spitting distance of our house. “Yeah, and some randoms.”

Random places like…you know…the University of Sydney. University of Melbourne. Oxford. An incredible program I found in Copenhagen.

Those are all a long shot, though. My GPA is exceptional, but biomed engineering is a highly competitive field. Those programs receive a ton of applicants.

“All right, well, if you need me to proof your essays, let me know. I’m happy to help.”

“Oh. For sure, I will. Thank you.”

“Of course. Love you, kid.”

“Love you.”

Guilt churns in my stomach as I open my laptop to resume my disloyal task.

I’m a traitor.

A dirty, rotten traitor.

Here I am telling my brother I love him, all the while trying to decide if I should reach out to another brother I didn’t know existed. It feels like a betrayal to my family.

I focus on the document in front of me, the familiar template and its headings soothing me like a cup of hot cocoa. I don’t care if it makes me obsessive. The Method works for me. It makes me feel better, more secure in my decisions.

Taking a breath, I go through the calming process, breaking down all the elements of the decision.

ACTION: Reach out to biological brother.

Next up is the pros and cons section. I start keying in points under each column.

PROS:

Learning about my heritage

Possibly making a new friend

CONS:

Betraying family

What if they’re mad?

What if they never speak to me again?

What if he’s an asshole?

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