Dear Casey,
You asked me once why I tease you and go out of my way to get on your nerves. My response was: "I'm your stepbrother. It's my job. And I take my job very seriously." You accepted that reply as fact with that trademark eye-roll of yours. But it really has nothing to do with some childish belief that siblings are supposed to annoy each other according to some obscure law of nature. The truth is, Casey, you frustrate me, but not in the way I'd have you believe.
Dad and Nora can't seem to stop talking about how my grades have improved and how I seem to have matured a little bit in the two years since the Venturis and the MacDonalds decided to pull a Brady Bunch. Whenever you say something about it, I smirk and remind you that it's just one more thing you can't beat me at anymore. That's how it started. I resolved one fine day to ace at least one class just to prove that I could be just as good as you if I wanted to. But, somehow, once I had taken a bite of academic success, I developed a taste for it despite myself. Good grades seemed to lead naturally to an increased sense of responsibility, and the rest is history. Don't get me wrong, Case. I'm still more fun than you. The savvy, carefree Derek is still in there somewhere. You and I both know he comes out whenever circumstances permit. But I'm just not in that mode 24/7 anymore. Thanks to you, I'm a trained puppy…and that drives me NUTS! Contrary to what Shakespeare would have you believe, NO ONE should be able to tame a shrew, at least not a shrew like me. But you did it. However indirectly, you did it.
Then there was that fateful talk with Edwin. One night, he decided it was his turn to probe the mystery of my newfound maturity. He came right out and asked my why I all of a sudden cared so much about my grades. I told him that it was just so you couldn't hold better grades over me anymore. I made it out to be a competition born of the purest sibling rivalry, but that perceptive little twit had the gall to suggest that I was doing well in school not to outdo you, but to impress you! Of course I told him he was crazy, but I then made the mistake of actually thinking about it long enough to realize that I was only kidding myself. Indeed, the kid was right. For whatever reason, your opinion of me mattered to me. As much as I hated to admit it, I wanted to be someone you could respect and perhaps even be proud of.
Long story short, this led me to the shocking conclusion that I cared about you more than I ever intended to. Half the reason I tease you is because I actually enjoy our playful bantering. I'll deny I ever said this, but you're the only person I've ever known who gives me a run for my money in bantering, and it's kind of thrilling to have such a worthy opponent around. I like to get you riled up, because that's when your beauty really shines (Yes, you heard right). I love the rush I get when you glare at me with those intense blue eyes of yours. I love the way your cheeks flush whenever you get really annoyed with me. And believe it or not, I even love that self-satisfied smile you get whenever you know you've beaten me at wordplay or otherwise caught me off guard.
I think I've already made what I'm trying to say painfully obvious, so I'm just going to say it. I love you, Casey. What's worse, I love you in a way that really puts the "step" in "stepbrother"! That time I caught you sneaking around the house late at night, I teased you even worse than usual. But all the while, all I could think about was how cute you looked (Again, you heard right). There you were, with your soft hair let loose to drape your shoulders and upper back with a certain natural grace, wearing a sky blue tank top and white pajama pants dotted with ducklings. There was a sensual innocence to you then that I now realize you always have. In that moment, I wanted to run my hands through your hair, tickle the small of your back, and perhaps even steal a kiss or two. Even yesterday, when we had a good tiff about your choice of a lime-green bikini for an outing at the beach, it was all more or less a defense mechanism. It's hard enough to not think about how truly attractive you are as it is, but for you to torture me with that alluring contraption was just not fair!
Even now, I sit here in awe of how much of a sap you've turned me into. I like girls as much as the next straight guy, but I never planned on falling in love. But, as always, you came along and threw a wrench into my plans. And now, I am faced with a rather angsty dilemma. Technically, we're not really brother and sister, but there's still the issue of how happy Dad and Nora are that we've come to act more or less like a real family. Plus, how am I supposed to tell my stepsister that I'm in love with her? We're not biologically related, but I have no way of knowing if that makes any difference to you. If I actually told you some of the things I've written here, how do I know you wouldn't give me a look of utter revulsion or at least tell me its way too weird for you? Then there's also the universal fear that you just don't feel the same way.
But it doesn't matter, really. It's not like you're ever going to read this. The only reason I'm sitting here right now scribbling all this on a piece of notebook paper is to get it off my chest (something the old Derek would've been far too cool and carefree to do). I should hate you for complicating my life like this, but I can't. The scary thing is that I wouldn't have it any other way. Whether or not you ever return my feelings, at least I know what it's like to feel something more than a casual attraction for someone.
Sincerely,
Derek