Might not think
that’s selfish.
But I do.
Mostly because
I miss her.
Sometimes I wake
up at night, sure
I can hear her singing.
But then, when I listen
real hard, all I can hear
is the wind outside.
Sometimes I come
home from school
and head straight
to the kitchen,
where she used to help
me with my homework.
But now, when I toss
my backpack onto
a chair, there’s no one
there to ask about my day
or keep me from sticking
my fingers into the jar
of peanut butter.
Sometimes I unscrew
the lid from the bottle
of her shampoo I hid
in my closet, just to
remember how earthy
her hair always smells—
like rosemary and vanilla.
But then, when I close
it up, my room reeks
again of dirty socks
and stinky shoes
and I have to crack
a window or two.
Sometimes when I ride
my bike up the driveway,
I remember to put it in
the garage, leaning it on
the kickstand, safe
from front-yard thieves
or wayward cars.
Other times, like right
now, I totally don’t care
and leave it dumped
sideways on the lawn.
When I think too hard
about Mom, I don’t care
about anything.
Will Isn’t Here
So I scoot around
the house, into the side
yard, and unlock the door
with the key we keep
stashed beneath
the garden gnome’s butt.
The air inside hangs
like a hot blanket.
Dad makes us keep
the air conditioner low
when we’re not home.
I crank it up now,
and as I reach
for the button,
a wicked stench
leaks from my armpit.
Better clean up
or they might not
let me inside
the restaurant.
First, I try to call Will
and see if he can give
us a ride. But it goes
straight to voice mail.
Big surprise.
I go to my room, grab
some clean clothes, dump
my uniform in the bathroom
hamper. Dad wants us to help
him keep things neat.
I have to work hard enough
without picking up after
the two of you boys.
That’s true, so why would
Will toss his dirty stuff on the floor
right next to the laundry basket?
I take care of that for him,
turn the shower to barely
lukewarm, step under
the not-quite-cool waterfall.
Ah! That feels good.
Good enough to make me
want to sing. I must’ve caught
the music bug from my mom.
I guess I sing
way too loud
way too much.
Tone it down, please,
Dad always says.
Will just yells, Shut up!
But I Won’t Bug Anyone
Singing here in the shower.
One of Mom’s favorite songs
comes to mind, and as I lather
my hair, I belt out, “I’m still
standing. Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .”
A stream of shampoo
gets into my eyes.
I’m fighting the sting
when suddenly
something crashes,
really smashes,
in the house.
What do I do?
Is it a burglar?
Should I yell?
Be super quiet?
off the water, grab a towel,
and wrap it around me
before cracking the door
and peeking out.
Someone’s in the house,
for sure. But who?
And how did they get in?
I hear feet crunching on
pieces of whatever fell.
The noise is coming from . . .
my room. At least, I think so.
My heart thumps.
Too fast.
Too hard.
Feels like it might pop
right out of my chest.
I slide clothes over
my sticky skin.
Nudge the door open.
Plot my escape.
Get ready to run.
On your mark . . .
get set . . .
go!
I Sprint
Down the hall,
eyes on the front door.
But the bottoms
of my feet are still wet,
and all of a sudden
I’m skidding.
Sliding.
Slipping.
Just past my room,
down I go. “Ow!”
The word falls out
of my mouth,
and now I’m caught.
Sure enough,
footsteps slap
in my direction.
Dude! You okay?
“Will! When did you get
home? And what are you
doing in my room?”
His face turns the color
of a tomato and he starts
to stutter.
I—I—I . . .
And now I remember
the crashing noise.
I don’t even stand up,
just crawl real fast,
trying to get into my room.
Will blocks me.
“What did you break?”
More sputtering. I—I . . .
Something goes off
inside me, sharp
and hot, like a
F
I
R
E
C
R
A
C
K
E
R
!!!
I Reverse a Little
Take aim, bomb straight
into his legs, knocking
him backward, but somehow
he stays on his feet.
You little . . .
Will’s a lot bigger than me.
Thump! Oof! Thwack!
Ow—again!
Only, this time my chin
smacks the floor and I find
myself facedown, big brother
straddling my back. “Let. Me. Up.”
Not till you say you’re sorry.
The only part of me
I can move is my head,
and when I lift it, my eyes
travel across the hardwood
boards to the open closet door.
Just inside is a splash
of coins, and the
peanut
butter jar that spilled them
when it fell off the shelf
where I keep it, filled
with my allowance and
odd-job cash I’ve earned.
There should be bills, too,
but I can’t see any of them.
I force my voice steady.
“What happened to my money?”
The pressure on my back
vanishes as Will jumps up.
He’s totally busted, so he has
nothing to say but the truth.
I borrowed some. I’ll pay
you back. Don’t worry.
“But you have your own money.
Why would you take mine?
What do you need it for?”
Something important, okay?
I want to know more, but
the look on his face tells me
I’d better let it drop.
“When will you pay me back?”
As soon as I can. I have to go.
“Dad’s taking us to Steak ’n Shake.
You’re coming, right?”
Can’t. Not tonight.
Just Like That
He leaves.
No apology.
No see you later.
No asking if I need a ride.
If he was going to borrow
money, why didn’t he ask?
Wait. Was he going to
straight-up steal it?
If I didn’t find him there
in my room, right after
the peanut butter jar
crashed, I might never
have known where
that money went.
I’m not sure about
the change, but I’m positive
I had about sixty dollars
in ones, fives, and tens.
And now it’s all gone.
Will took it.
What kind of brother
does something like that?
Will’s been super hard
to get along with for a while.
But lately there’s something else.
Something more.
Something worse.
Something strange.
Even after his injury,
even when he was distant,
he used to be decent.
Maybe he wouldn’t talk
much, but stealing?
Cheating? Lying?
No, he did not do
those things.
I need to talk to Dad.
But it’s hard when he’s so busy.
I need to talk to Mom.
But she doesn’t have time for me.
I need to put this family
back together.
I can.
I know it.
I can fix it.
I have to.
But I don’t have
a clue how.
I Call Bram
Tell him to let his mom know
we’ll need that ride after all.
Then I text Dad, who’s still
working his shift:
Will isn’t here, but Bram’s mom
can drive us. Meet you at 8:15?
It’s a few minutes before
I get his text back:
Better make it 8:30. If I’m not
there when you get there, I will be
shortly. Mouth’s watering already.
Bram should be here around
eight. While I wait, I scoop up
the spilled coins, count as I put
them back in the jar. Twelve
dollars, sixty-two cents.
Guess I’d better keep a total
so I know if more goes missing.
I wonder why he needed the money.
It must’ve been important.
Besides, what happened to
his own stash of allowance cash?
And should I tell Dad?
I’m Still Thinking That Over
When Bram thunk-thunks
the door-knocker thing.
When I open up, he just stands
there. He leans forward, squints,
runs a hand through the blond
stubble covering his head.
What’s wrong with your face?
“What’s wrong with your face?”
No, dude. I mean it. What
happened to your face?
I’m confused. “Um . . . what?”
He pushes inside,
sets down his backpack.
Your jaw is black and blue.
Did somebody punch you?
I touch my cheeks. Chin.
Ouch. Now I remember.
“No, but Will knocked me
down. It’s really that bad?”
Go look in the mirror.
He follows me to the bathroom.
I flip on the light, and . . . whoa!
Spreading right and left
from the cleft in the middle
of my chin is a huge bruise.
“Wow. That’s beautiful, huh?
Think Dad will notice?”
Unless he’s mostly blind
and can’t find his glasses.
Why did Will do that to you?
“Your mom’s waiting.
I’ll tell you in the car.”
I lock the front door behind
us and we get in the back seat
of a sweet little Mustang.
Someday I want a car like this.
Or maybe a Ferrari.
Bram’s mom says hi and
looks in her rearview mirror.
Before she can ask, I say,
“I know. What went down is . . .”
By the Time
We get to Steak ’n Shake,
they know all the details.
Well, except for
the details I don’t know.
That’s messed up, says Bram.
It’s not my place to say, adds
his mom, but you really should
talk to your father about it.
“I know.” I’m quiet for
a second. “Do you think
Will’s in trouble?”
Sounds like he could be.
“Thanks, Mrs. Martin.
I’ll definitely talk to Dad.”
I will. But when?
Before, during, or after burgers?
Not to mention the fries.
Ooh, and a shake. Maybe Oreo—
So, we going in or what?
Bram sounds impatient.
“Sorry, man. Just call me
milkshake brain.”
MB for short?
We agree that works
and head inside.
The hostess says we can
look for Dad, but I don’t see
him yet, so Bram and I wait
in chairs against one
peach-colored wall.
I’m glad I’m not waiting
by myself, or I’d be bored.
Bram and I talk about baseball
and whether or not girls
should be able to play
on the same teams with guys.
Bram says no, but I ask,
“Well, what if a girl really
could play just as good?”
He shakes his head. Maybe
in Little League. Would
never happen in the majors.
“Probably not. But I’m
saying what—”
The do
or opens. In walks
Dad. He’s not alone.
The Lady
Who’s with him is pretty.
Not like a movie star.
Like a real person.
Natural.
I don’t think she’s wearing
makeup, and her hair falls
to her shoulders in thick
brown ribbons. Easy, like
all she has to do is brush it.
I notice that before Dad
spots me. When he does,
he lifts his hand to wave.
The lady’s hand
slips out of his,
drops to her side.
Wait . . . what?
Bram pokes me. Who’s that?
“No clue.”
She follows Dad over to
where we’re sitting.
Hey, boys, says Dad. Good
to see you again, Bram.
It’s pretty bright in here,
so Dad can’t help but see
the dark bruise on my chin.
What happened to you?
Did you get hit by a ball?
I shake my head. But now
I don’t want to talk about
Will. Not in front of a stranger.
“I tripped and bumped the floor.”
Bram gives me one of those
looks that means seriously?
But he doesn’t say anything.
You should be more careful,
says Dad. You don’t want
to knock out a tooth or something.
“Right.” I stare at the lady,
who clears her throat,
waiting for an introduction.
Oh! The tips of Dad’s ears turn
red, and I bet they feel hot.
This is my friend Lily. Lily, this
is Trace and his buddy Bram.
Lily Smiles
It makes her face
look really friendly
and I don’t want it to,
because she isn’t my friend.
But she is Dad’s friend.
What does that even mean?
So good to meet you, Trace.
Your father brags about you
so much I feel like I know you.
“Interesting. He hasn’t
even mentioned you.”
Cold.
Frosty.
Like how I feel inside.
Trace—
It’s okay, Sebastian. I’m sure
this came as a huge surprise.
Let’s get a table. I’m starving.
Huh. I think I just lost
my appetite. I’m not
a big fan of surprises.
At least, not this kind.
No One Says Much
As we’re seated near
the back of the room.
Lily and Dad discuss the menu,