My Brother is a Super Star

I stared at the ticket-grabbing screen on my cell phone, my fingertips turning white from the tension. The words 'Yale Lincoln Farewell Concert' flickering on the screen felt like little flames burning the secret I've hidden for years — Yale Lincoln is my real brother. To grab two tickets, I asked eighty friends for help. The night before, I sent each of them a 15-dollar bonus and messaged them one by one: "Set your alarm for 1 a.m.—make sure you wake up!" My friend Rachel replied, "Don't worry, I'll set my alarm—definitely won't let my mom find out!" Kevin was even more dependable, saying he'd have both his computer and cell phone running while working overtime, promising to watch out for me. At 1 a.m., the moment the countdown hit zero, I held my breath, fingers gripping my cell phone tight, my palms sweating. "Got them!" The moment the app popped up the notification, I was so thrilled I almost dropped my cell phone and quickly took a screenshot. Last week, Mike was still holding me, his eyes sparkling as he said, "Viola, I really want to hear Yale Lincoln sing 'Starlight' live. It'd be amazing if we could go together." Before I could even send the screenshot, Mike's message popped up first: "Yolanda's heartbroken and feeling down. I gave her those two tickets you wanted." I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I rubbed them and looked again, but those words still hurt to see. Right after that came the second message: "Just wait for us outside the venue; listening from the roadside works too." I opened the ticket app, and the words "Already Transferred" stood out clearly, with the recipient being Yolanda's cell phone number. Yolanda was always clinging to Mike Carter, and she'd constantly give me sly, secretive glares. I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and dialed that painfully familiar number. The phone was answered after three rings, Brother's voice hoarse from just waking up: "Viola? Why aren't you asleep so late?" "Bro, your concert... can I go on stage and play "Starlight" with you?" I tried to keep my voice steady, not wanting him to catch the hurt behind it. There was a pause on the other end, then came a surprised voice, "You finally agreed? I've asked you so many times before, and you always rejected." "Um... I just suddenly wanted you to see how much I've improved." I didn't mention Mike Carter or that the tickets were given away—I didn't want to make him worry. "No problem!" my brother's voice was full of warmth. "I'll have the manager send you the schedule right away, and I'll make sure the sheet music gets to you first thing tomorrow morning." Right after hanging up with Brother, Mike Carter's call came through. The moment I answered, his reproach came through first: "Why didn't you reply to my messages? Still upset about the tickets?" Right beside me, Yolanda's coquettish voice chimed in: "Mike, don't be harsh with Viola, or... should I just give the tickets back?" "Give them back? No way!" Mike cut her off immediately. "Yolanda just got dumped, poor thing. What's wrong with giving her the tickets? Viola, why are you so selfish?" I laughed out loud, but tears welled up in my eyes: "I tried so hard for these tickets, paid people money, stayed up all night—and you just give them away with one sentence? Why don't you give your tickets to her then?" "I have to go with Yolanda Scott!" Mike Carter said confidently. "You're not even close with her, so what if you gave her the ticket? Besides, why didn't you grab an extra one? The problem's clearly on you!" If cell phones could send punches, I swear I'd smack him right through the screen. "I bought the tickets because you said you wanted to listen to Yale Lincoln, to keep a little memory with me!" I clenched my cell phone so tight my knuckles went white. Before Mike could say anything, Yolanda's crying broke out: "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have taken the ticket. I'll return it right now..."