"Oh. My. God."

Minho jumps off the couch not even a second after I enter the room. He even squeals as he puts his hands on my shoulders.

"Sander."

I raise an eyebrow. "Minho."

"I need you to get me pregnant right now."

"What—"

He bounces from place to place. "They're so cute! I never knew kids were this cute. Claire is like a little time bomb, and I've figured out how the bomb will never explode! And Ledger? He's so adorably whiny! Where have you been hiding these kids? I want them."

"Ehm." Startled, I pick Ledger off the ground. "Alright, then... so, anything happened while I was gone?"

"No, surprisingly not," Thomas calls out from the bathroom.

"What're you doing in there?"

"Doing Claire's hair."

"Honestly," Minho begins, "at first I thought they were Newt's kids because I am confident he has gotten a few girls pregnant by now, but his kids could never be sweethearts like these! How many siblings do you have again?"

"Didn't you already meet them when we visited Elmsville a while ago?"

"Not really. I went to the store and cleaned the house while you guys babysat the kids," Minho reminds us. "Because I thought they were little shits but after all, they're lovely little shits. But how many are there?"

"Six. But one's older."

"You don't talk about them much."

"There's not much to say."

"That's bullshit."

I glare at him. "What do you need me to say? That it was hard? That I hated it?"

"No," he responds softly. "I'm just saying—it's okay that it sucked."

That it did.

The first memory I have of understanding I wasn't the center of attention was on my fourth birthday.

I'd woken up so excited, the kind of excitement that only a little kid can feel. I ran into the kitchen to find Mom. She was rocking Krista in her arms, shushing her gently while she cried.

"Mom! Mom! It's my birthday!" I grinned.

Mom didn't look up. "Not now, Sander."

"But—"

"Krista's sick," she snapped, bouncing my sister a little harder. "Go play or something. I'll get to you later."

I swallowed my disappointment. She didn't mean to sound so harsh, right? So I nodded and went back to my room. I spent the morning drawing pictures of what I wanted my birthday cake to look like.

When lunch came and went, I waited. When the sun started to set, I waited. It was only as I sat alone at the kitchen table that I realized there wouldn't be a cake.

That night, I ate leftovers from the fridge while Mom yelled at Dad on the phone. Krista cried in her crib, and the day passed just like any other. No one ever said "happy birthday."

By the time I was nine, I knew better than to expect much.

"Sander!" Mom's voice cut through the noise one evening. "Take Melvin for a while, will you? Krista's throwing another fit!"

Melvin was two back then, and Krista five.

I didn't argue. I picked up Melvin, who was crying in his crib, and carried him out of the chaos.

My sister Helen was at school that day. We'd take turns going to school, so the other could help mom at home. It worked until the school started to notice— after only a few weeks.

I sat with him in the corner of the living room, rocking him gently while Krista's screams echoed through the house.

When Dad came home from a work trip that night, he stepped over the mess and gave me a pat on the head as I held Ledger.

"Good job, buddy," he told me.

When Claire was three, I was thirteen. Her tantrums were getting worse. Mom said it was just a phase, but I wasn't so sure. She'd scream for hours, throwing things and hitting anyone who got too close.

Krista had locked herself in her room again, refusing to come out. Mom didn't bother trying to coax her; Claire had torn up the living room, crayons and paper scattered everywhere. Melvin was crying because she'd broken his toy, and I had accidentally spilled juice all over the couch.

"Sander, Helen, for God's sake, clean this up!" Mom shouted as she wrestled Claire into her bedroom.

"I'm trying!" I snapped back.

"That's not good enough!"

By the time I finished, Mom had locked herself in her room. Helen and I were left to put everyone to bed. I tucked Melvin into his crib, kissed Claire on the forehead despite her protests, and sat with Krista until she stopped crying. I didn't bother eating dinner that night.

By fifteen, I'd stopped hoping things would get better.

Claire's ODD had taken over the household. She was explosive, unpredictable, and impossible to reason with. Melvin wasn't much better; his CD meant he was constantly breaking things, screaming at the top of his lungs, or storming out of the house.

One night, I was in the kitchen, trying to make dinner while Claire got annoyed over the color of her plate. Melvin was kicking the walls, knocking over chairs and slamming doors.

"Mom!" I shouted, hoping she'd come help.

She didn't. She was out with one of her men. Again. I tried to calm Claire down, but she threw her plate at me. It shattered on the floor. I stared at the mess, my hands shaking.

"Clean it up," she demanded, crossing her arms.

I was too exhausted to do my homework after putting all of them in bed, even though I was well aware my teachers wouldn't appreciate it.

Until Newt came along.

The real crush started around the age of fifteen, and it was the perfect distraction from the things going on at home. The one thing to look forward to; seeing him.

"Sandy!" Ledger's pulling at my shirt. "Hungry!"

I put him down on a chair. "What would you like?"

"Noot done me."

I really do my best to translate those words, but it's impossible. "Huh?"

"Noot done me!" He laughs so loudly that his chair squeaks, his chubby finger pointing at the fridge.

"Noot done me," I repeat. "Are you talking about Newt?"

The volume of his laughs increases, so that must be a good sign.

"Food? The food Newt made you?"

He claps in his hands. "Yes! Noot done me."

"The food Newt made you," I say again. Instead is scowling at him for using the wrong words, it's better to repeat it in the correct way. "Alright. What did Newt make you? Point at it."

I open the fridge, waiting. Ledger takes it all in. "That!"

"Newt got you chocolate pudding for breakfast?"

"No, but it look yummy tasty."

"Claire!" I call out toward the bathroom. "You want some pudding too?"

Thomas's voice comes back instead. "She's busy. I'm almost done—give me five minutes!"

I look over at Minho, who's still staring at Ledger like he's just discovered the concept of children.

"You really like kids, don't you?"

"I like these kids. They're chaos, but I love it."

Ledger giggles at this, his tiny hands reaching for the spoon. "Mini funny!"

"'Mini?'" Minho raises an eyebrow at me. "I love him. He's staying."

"He's three," I mutter, handing Ledger the pudding cup. "He doesn't get to decide if you're funny or not."

"Yes, he does," Minho counters, bending down to Ledger's level. "You're a smart kid. Tell Sander I'm funny."

Ledger nods enthusiastically. "Mini funny!"

"See?" Minho grins. "Proof. Ledger loves me more than you."

"Sure," I mutter, not even bothering to argue. "Just wait until he realizes you don't have pudding for him."

Ledger looks back at me, his chocolate-smeared face lighting up. "More pudding?"

"No," I say. "You just had one. You'll get sick."

He frowns. "Mini get me pudding?"

Minho claps a hand over his chest like he's been struck by lightning. "My guy. I would, but your big brother over there is a tyrant."

I roll my eyes, turning my attention to Claire, who finally comes out of the bathroom, her hair in two uneven pigtails made by Thomas. She looks at the pudding in my hand and frowns.

"Is that all we're eating?" she demands, hands on her hips.

"Do you want something else?"

"Yes," she says immediately.

"What do you want?"

"Pancake."

"Pancakes? Right now?"

"Yes. With syrup."

"Of course, with syrup," I mutter, already pulling out the ingredients.

Minho perks up again. "Oh, I'll help!"

"No," I say quickly. "You'll make a mess."

"You wound me, Sander. Deeply."

"Not as deeply as you'll wound my kitchen," I reply, turning back to the counter.

"Come on, Minho." Thomas claps the boy on his shoulder. "Let's leave Sander to his duties."

Ledger bursts into laughter. "Mini funny!"

"Thank you, little dude," Minho says, smirking as he follows Thomas out of the room. "At least someone around here appreciates me."

Claire hops onto the counter, swinging her legs as I mix the pancake batter. She watches me closely, eyes like a hawk's.

"You're bad at cooking," she says after a moment.

"Thanks."

"Newt's better," she adds.

I glance at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yet you're stuck with me until he's back."

"Too bad."

I can't help but laugh softly at her bluntness. She has grown so much and I've learned that she really doesn't mean to throw all the tantrums. Besides, she's just a kid.

"When will he be back?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Any minute from now."

A short silence before she says, "Don't worry, you're still my best big brother. Krista says your name means defender of people. What is a defender?"

"Someone who protects."

"What does my name mean?"

"I'm not sure. Ask Newt when he gets back."

"What does his name mean?"

"It's a salamander."

Just like that, she burst out laughing, so loudly that I can't help but grin.

"But his real name is Newton. I'm not sure what that means."

"Newton," she repeats.