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“W hy are you wearing those dorky glasses when you don’t even need them to see?” my brother Smith says before taking a bite of his pizza.

“You’re so weird. And extra.”

“Smith, that’s enough,” my mom scolds him before smiling at me.

“I love your glasses, baby. I think you look adorable.”

“No, she doesn’t. And also, if she keeps making those faces, people are going to think she’s having a medical episode.” My brother smirks, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Why can’t you just be normal? Why do you always need attention?”

My oldest brother, Silas, chimes in, “You’re just pissed because she’s funnier than you are.” He thinks for a second.

“Matter of fact, now that I think about it, you aren’t funny at all, Smithy.”

“I am too, asshole,” Smith mutters, and my mother smacks the top of his hand.

“Since when does my thirteen-year-old have an absolute potty mouth?” she hisses.

“It’s your new group of friends. Nothing but trouble.” She turns back to me.

“You are funny, love. You’re so funny. Ignore your brother, okay?”

“But she doesn’t even need glasses,” Smith says.

“Who would want to wear glasses if they didn’t need them to … oh, I don’t know … see?”

“Your sister—that’s who,” my mom snaps.

“When you went through the stage of thinking you were Superman, we let you go around and pretend to save the world.”

Smith is suddenly silent, his eyes widening.

“That was different,” he utters.

“I was, like … three.”

“You were older than three.” My mom chuckles.

“Either way, worry about yourself, is my point.” She gives my brother a mischievous stare.

“If you keep bothering your sister, I have some things I can share with the class about you, Mr. Obsessed with Gem—”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Smith grumbles quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll shut up.”

“Thought so,” my mom coos, taking a sip of her club soda and smiling.

My mom is an angel, but she knows what she needs to say when she wants to prove a point—like right now.

I adjust the fake glasses on my face, keeping them on and refraining from making any weird faces at my brother.

I don’t know why I always need to “put on a show.” I guess it just makes me more comfortable than being serious all the time.

My whole life, everyone jokes that I’m too much, which is strange because I always feel like I’m missing something.

Either way, I am who I am, and if some people find me annoying …

well, to hell with them.

One day, a person is going to come along and like the way I am.

If not, I suppose I’ll just be a crazy cat lady instead.