GLOW

PROLOGUE

Middle children are cursed.

No, really. Think about it. The oldest is always prized as the most grown-up. They're the guinea pig and they always have the most help trying things out. Based on a (not very) lifelong scientific study done from 2001 to 2015 by yours truly, parents pay more attention to the potential of the oldest than to any other child. On the other hand, the youngest is always the "cutie." Why would they need to grow up? The parents are so worn out by the time the youngest rolls around, they can have whatever they want and do whatever they want. But the middle child has the worst of both worlds. They are always expected to follow the instructions of the oldest while having to please the youngest, and they can't do anything for themselves without thinking about their siblings. Middle children always fail to match the novelty of the older sibling or the freedom of the younger, usually falling by the wayside. Even in fairy tales, the oldest child always fails spectacularly, the youngest always succeeds spectacularly, and the others always lead thoroughly un-spectacular lives. They'll be married off, or move halfway across the world, never to be heard from again, or die at five from eating too many Brussels sprouts or suffocating inside the left arm of their trench coat or some other stupid thing. Throughout my years of research, I have drawn the conclusion that fictional middle children are jinxed before birth to avoid any aspect of a noteworthy life. In a big, juicy hamburger, they occupy the extremely important role of: the lettuce.

I know, I know. I'm monologuing. But hey, everyone does it. At least, I hope so, or else I might be turning into a lunatic.

Whatever. I'm fed up with this. I'm done with being the lettuce. I'm sick of being unappreciated and tired of being ignored. I have potential.

Although maybe the best way to show that is not to follow my ex-crush down a grimy sewer pipe at one-thirty in the morning.

But it's too late to turn back now.