The Wallflower and the Running Back

I don’t know why I thought having my big brother tag along with me at freshman orientation instead of my parents was a good idea, but it’s too late to rehash that idea now. He’s already called me Squirt twice in front of people I hoped to impress. And now he’s inviting the tall, blonde, senior sociology student running the future alumni booth to his football game at state, three hours away. Great. She just said yes. “You’re gonna love it here, Squirt.” That makes three. And this time he actually ruffles my hair. I glance around and sigh in relief that nobody seems to have heard him. I love my brother Casey. And I know his doting over me comes from a well-meaning place. But as much as the both of us would like to see me blossom into an amazing social butterfly during my college years, I’m not cut from the same outgoing fabric that my brother is. He’s charismatic. Like a magnet, people cling to him. They seek him out at parties simply to be around him. They throw parties simply to invite him in hopes that he’ll come. I am the flip side of the magnet. The side that pushes people away. I am in constant diffusion, drifting from the action—from people. I survive on the perimeter. It’s where I’m comfortable. It doesn’t mean I like it.