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Aged 9 and 3
Like so many parents, Bellamy Blake rued the day the child in his life learned to walk.
Of course it had been cute to watch Octavia holding onto their beat-up old sofa and learn first to stand, then to stay upright as she took her first wobbly steps; he’d felt as victorious as she did — perhaps more so; even as a toddler she’d taken so many cues, emotional and otherwise, from him, to their mother’s fond amusement — on the day she managed, all by herself, to cross the (admittedly tiny) living room to latch onto him.
No, what annoyed him was that, ever since then, she’d been trying to follow him everywhere he went. The bus stop in the mornings, Miller’s or Murphy’s or Raven’s place after school, all over the house when he was at home.
And the questions just never stopped. “Why can’t I have a real sword, Bell? I know Santa lives at the North Pole but where does the tooth fairy live, Bell? Will you tell me the story of Perseus again, Bell?”
“Go away, O, I’m busy” seemed to mean nothing to her; she’d follow him into his room and climb up next to him on the bed, or into his lap if he tried to sit in the armchair that he’d begged Aurora to help him move into the corner it currently stood in: dilapidated, true, but still as majestic a throne as any boy king could dream of.
So Bellamy would eventually give in with a sigh, mindful of his mother’s advice to pick his battles (as well as her constant pleas for him to look after his sister), and carry his backpack down to the dining room, where he’d set out his school-supplied crayons and some old homework assignments on the other end of the dining room table from his workspace. Octavia would inevitably scoot closer and closer to him, inching her chair and drawings gradually as though he wouldn’t notice the decreasing space between them, but at least this way he had a few minutes of peace in which to start on fractions or whatever book they were currently being required to read.
By the time she started whining again — “Bellllll, I’m booooored!” — he’d usually managed to finish enough of his homework that he wouldn’t have to stay up too late past bedtime.
(Octavia’s, not his: apparently Aurora’s idea of compensation for babysitting duty, rather than an allowance or letting him go out with his friends, even under their parents’ supervision, was to simply not try to manage Bellamy’s schedule at all.)
At this point he’d gather everything up, half-listening as his sister described each of her drawings in excruciating detail before picking the best one to show Mom when she got home and the second-best one to gift to him on the spot. One wall of his bedroom was covered with these runner-ups of masterpieces, which was an endless source of teasing every time his friends came over, but not so embarrassing that he ever took them down.
On good days, their mom would get home in time for a family dinner: usually takeout she’d picked up on the way home.
But on really good days she’d let them help as she put something together in the kitchen. Never anything fancy, she never had the energy for that, but always delicious and lots of fun to make. Conscientious and thorough, Bellamy had shown an early interest in the art of measuring and combining ingredients; meanwhile, Octavia gleefully made literal mincemeat and haphazardly diced veggies — all under careful supervision with relatively child-safe knives of course.
Between the three of them, the Blakes always managed to somehow salvage a meal that tasted better than it looked, if only because they were enjoying it together.
Aged 11 and 5
“Rawr!” Flapping his arms like wings, Bellamy jumped off the rock and landed in a crouch.
Octavia giggled. “That’s not what dragons say, Bell!”
“Oh, yeah? Then you be the dragon, and I’ll be the knight.” He gave a decidedly dragon-like huff, mildly affronted that she doubted his mythological knowledge, and pulled off his jacket — the hood was designed to look like a dragon’s head and it had felt scales along the spine, so with just a bit of imagination it made a perfect costume for this kind of game — and swapped it for her toy sword.
Like many younger siblings, Octavia was delighted to appropriate her big brother’s clothes, a game made even more thrilling by the fact that he was offering it to her rather than her sneakily “borrowing” it from whichever surface he’d left it hanging haphazardly from.
It was Bellamy’s jacket and he was letting her wear it: hands-down, the highlight of her week. So far, anyway.
Eagerly she slipped her arms into the sleeves and made the exciting discovery that all the extra fabric hanging past her small hands almost doubled her wingspan. Crowing like Peter Pan — Bellamy had been reading her the books at bedtime, complete with all the different voices and sound effects — she clambered up onto the rock, ignoring her brother’s extended helping hand.
If the jacket was a bit big on Bellamy (his mom had laughed a little and joked about “growing boys” the first time he tried it on), it completely engulfed his sister; the resultant effect was anything but scary, but he made a show of widening his eyes and taking a step back as Octavia pulled the hood down, completely obscuring her bright eyes and chubby cheeks in what she clearly thought was a menacing look.
“You ready, O?”
“Roaaaaar!” She paused to peek at him from under the dragon head. “That’s dragon for yes.”
“That’s exactly what I would’ve guessed,” he told her solemnly. “But maybe you should take the hood off so you can see. Mom would kill me if you got hurt.”
Really, he should’ve known better than to say anything. Her only response was to set her jaw in a smaller version of the stubborn expression Bellamy himself wore in almost all the photos ever taken of him. (Aurora had been known to wryly point them out as an example of nurture over nature since “before these two troublemakers came along, Blakes were notoriously patient and easygoing.”)
“I won’t!”
Bellamy groaned silently, but he’d learned to pick his battles. “Fine. Just be careful, okay?”
“I always am,” she chirped, and that was something else she’d definitely learned from him.
Age 13 and 7
Of the two Blakes, naturally Octavia was the one with more holiday spirit. Where her brother tended to be stressing himself out over making each occasion memorable yet safe for her, she simply enjoyed whatever lights and colors were on display in her small world of home and school, and her new friend Niylah’s house.
Right now, though, Bellamy could’ve sworn she seemed especially excited as she jumped on his bed.
At least, he hoped it was her and not some surprisingly small axe murderer.
“O? What time is it?” he asked, fumbling for the lamp and his glasses, in that order.
“Four o’clock! Why are you still sleeping, Bell? It’s Christmas !”
“It’s four o’clock. Why are you awake?”
“The sky’s awake, so I’m awake,” she quoted primly, just a little mockingly, and he very briefly wished she didn’t spend so much time with her friends and their Disney movies before feeling a little brotherly pride. (He’d make a nerd out of her yet.) “Come on, let’s open presents!”
“What if I make breakfast and we let Mom sleep in a little instead?”
She pretended to consider this. “Do we have bacon?”
Resigned to not getting any more sleep, Bellamy groaned and rolled out of bed. “Let’s go see.”
“Bell, it’s been an hour , can we open presents yet?”
Glancing at Aurora’s still-closed bedroom door, Bellamy reached for their old family camera and relented. “Just one, okay?”
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Okay!” That cheerful smile said that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted, and he couldn’t even be annoyed in the face of her infectious joy.
A plastic knight’s shield, a hand-stitched notebook, and a new hair barrette made with red ribbon appeared from under careful wrapping paper now torn to shreds before Octavia came back to her brother, a fourth box in her hands.
“Open this one first, Bell!”
He took a few seconds to appreciate the wrapping job — neat corners that revealed the package’s rectangular shape (probably Clarke’s or Gina’s work; his girl friends adored his sister, and the feeling was mutual) held down by arbitrarily positioned colorful tape that was definitely Octavia’s; a small brown-paper tag with his name in careful crooked letters — before gingerly unfolding the paper.
It was the Iliad and Odyssey, the gorgeous matched pair he’d found at the local secondhand bookstore and saved up for since. Not the fanciest tomes he’d ever seen, but pricier than he would’ve ever dreamed his baby sister could afford. “How did you —”
“It’s a secret.” She grinned, all mischief, so he pounced on her and started tickling all the spots he knew were most vulnerable.
“Stop, Bell, stop!” Octavia gasped between giggles. “Okay, I’ll tell you!”
He immediately let up, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
“So.” She sat up straight, taking her role as storyteller seriously as she began the tale, and Bellamy couldn’t help but smile and take a mental picture. (The camera was too far away, and he didn’t want to distract her.)
Seriously, he had the best sister in the world.