“Oh fuck.” Kev perks up, and Jeremy snickers behind me when I give Kev a look. “Is that why you took so long? Were you—”

  “No.” I roll my eyes.

  Kev latches onto my arm and shakes it. “Well, who is it?”

  “A guy.”

  “Oh,” he says. He lets me go. “Huh, I probably should’ve considered that possibility.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, maybe.” I lean back into the couch and prop my feet up on the table. “I couldn’t even tell if he’s in college or high school, so good luck getting him to make you food.”

  “I can be very persuasive,” Kev says. He grins. “But maybe you were still—”

  I shove my hand in his face and ignore him before I tap Jeremy’s arm. “Just play the damn movie, dude.”

  He does, and by the time the credits roll an hour later, I realize I zoned out of most of what’s been happening on screen for almost the entire thing. Kev is making strange noises to accompany the end credits, and Jeremy is egging him on.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I yawn and stand up. I ignore their shenanigans and begin the trek upstairs. Kev’s on my heels, and Jeremy is idling somewhere behind him. I instinctively walk into the kitchen, and I stop when I see Matty sitting at the dinner table and quietly thumbing some colorful toy. Dakota is standing at the stove over a pot, squinting at the label on a blue box of macaroni.

  “What’re you doing?” I ask, and Dakota looks at me, slightly startled. I don’t recall seeing his wide-framed glasses earlier. He settles down after a moment and focuses back on the box.

  “Mrs. Ramones said to cook him mac ’n’ cheese, so that’s what I’m doing.” He shoves his fingers under the flap to rip the box open.

  “He eats that shit all the time,” I say. “It’s not healthy.”

  Dakota shrugs. “Take that up with your mom.”

  “Oh hey,” Kev says as he appears in the doorway behind me. I look back to see him nod to Dakota. “You’re the sitter?”

  Dakota barely spares him a glance. He takes the cheese packet out of the box and dumps the shell pasta into the water. “Yes. Hi.”

  “Cool, cool. How old would you be?”

  Dakota grabs a wooden spoon to stir the pot. “Are you asking my age?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “Weird phrasing,” says Dakota. “How old would I be, as if you mean in the hypothetical future.”

  Kev scoffs. “Okay, okay, whatever. Semantics. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Oh shit.” Kev laughs and bumps my shoulder. “Homeboy is barely older than you. At least he’s not younger, or that would’ve been more embarrassing. Having a babysitter younger than you, imagine that—”

  “Jesus, Kevin, shut up,” I groan.

  “You in college?” Kev addresses Dakota again. “We go to the community college here.”

  “I take online classes.”

  “What year?”

  “Sophomore.”

  “University?”

  Dakota sighs quietly and glances at my brother, who’s been warily eyeing Kev every couple of seconds. “Can you please settle down or go somewhere else? I’m watching Matty, and I don’t like being interrogated while I’m working.”

  “Got it,” Kev says. “That’s fair. Lemme just grab some juice and we’ll be on our merry way. Okay?” He takes a straight path to the fridge and jostles past Matty’s chair, hitting it loudly as he veers too close. Matty tenses up, and I prepare myself for the wailing noise he’s about to emit.

  Dakota drops the spoon and rounds on Kev before Matty’s shrieks even pierce the air. He grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him away fiercely but silently. Then he heads back to the table.

  Matty is making an ungodly noise, and I yank Kev by the sleeve to direct him out of the kitchen. Dakota slowly sits down near Matty, and I think I hear him softly speaking to him, but I turn the corner before I see what else he does. I’m already getting a headache from the commotion, and Jeremy appears out of the living room with a daze in his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, and I push Kev toward him.

  “Matty had another meltdown ’cause Kev got too close to him.”

  Jeremy twists his mouth. “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Sorry.” Kev rubs the back of his neck. “Forgot about that kiddo.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say. I glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late; you guys should probably head home. My mom wanted you gone before she got back, and she’s due home in thirty.”

  Jeremy looks at his watch. “Isn’t she usually only back at eleven?”

  “She said she’d be two hours early tonight. I told you,” I lie.

  “How’re you gonna sleep with all that racket?” Kev laughs, and I roll my eyes.

  Jeremy pats his shoulder and gives me a sympathetic look. “We’ll see you tomorrow, dude, deal?”

  “Yeah,” I say. I rub my eyes to will my migraine away. They leave quickly, but the splintering ache in my head doesn’t subside even when the door closes. I’m about to head upstairs, but I halt when I realize the change in the atmosphere.

  There’s no screaming.

  I run to the kitchen with a fleeting thought about Dakota tranquilizing my brother to make him shut up. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline from the thriller movie my mind just glazed over, but his tantrums never stop this fast. I’m nearly sprinting when I get to the kitchen doorway, only to see them both sitting quietly at the dinner table.

  “What did you do?” I ask through the panicked heartbeat in my ears, and Dakota turns to give me a discerning look with no verbal response.

  Matty tenses up slightly, but he has his fingers wrapped around a green object, and Dakota has something similar in his hands too. An array of toys is scattered around the table.

  I approach quietly and take a seat in the chair next to Dakota. He doesn’t look at me, and I observe how he interacts with Matty. He isn’t saying anything, but he taps his fingers gently on the table. Matty sits still before he mimics the sounds Dakota tapped out.

  “Matty,” Dakota says softly. “You wanna say hi to Justin? He isn’t here to be loud with his obnoxious friends anymore.”

  Matty giggles and reaches for the red chain by Dakota’s knuckles. Dakota doesn’t move, but he slowly looks over at me.

  I stare at him. “How did you get him to calm down?” I whisper.

  Dakota raises his eyebrows again and squints at me. He either doesn’t hear me or ignores the question entirely as he stands up to go to the stove. He turns the gas off and starts draining the pasta, and I don’t want to repeat my query in case it disturbs Matty. I sit and quietly glance between them every so often for a couple of minutes, until Dakota finally sits back down and places a bowl of macaroni next to Matty.

  “Hey, sport,” he says. “Now I don’t really approve of you eating so late, but Mom’s orders. Think you can eat dinner and play for another hour before going to bed?”

  Matty doesn’t respond for several minutes.

  “Matty,” I say, “you have to—”

  Dakota leans his knuckles against my arm to cut me off.

  I grimace at him. “What? He isn’t going to eat unless you make him.”

  Dakota sighs and has the nerve to ignore me. He doesn’t say anything and taps his fingers on the table close to Matty. I roll my eyes.

  “Matty.” I raise my voice. Before I can get another word in, Dakota pushes me enough to make my chair shift slightly under me. It’s not a shove as much as it is a request for me to stop. I stand up abruptly. “Fine,” I say. “Good luck getting him to fucking eat.”

  “Chill,” Dakota chides. The fact that he doesn’t bother to even shoot me a warning glance is somehow more infuriating than if he had, because I feel ignored.

  I stare daggers into the top of his head as he quietly taps his fingers near Matty again. Matty reaches for the spoon after a calculated eternity, and I bet Dakota feels really smug about his success. Matty puts the spoon down after one bite and sits still.

  “Matty,” I scold.

  Dakota reaches behind his back and swats around until he hits my arm and pushes me away again.

  “Fine!” I say. “Have fun sitting here for an hour while he eats.”

  Dakota makes some strange noise that sounds like arrogance to me. I back out of the kitchen and make my way down the hallway and upstairs.

  Maybe this was a bad idea, but at least I can relax knowing that Matty is being watched by some abrasive guy with the magical power of stopping his conniptions.

  I FIND out the annoying way that Dakota will be working here every school night by Mom breaking the news to me on Monday only an hour before his arrival, so I don’t have time to plan anything to do to avoid him. I can put up with lurking around the house or going out if he’s here only every Friday, but the thought of his snobbish presence occupying five-sevenths of my week is exasperating.

  I’m still brainstorming ideas of how to get out of the house without being bored out of my mind by the time he shows up.

  “Hey,” Dakota says when I open the door. He’s wearing a gray flannel shirt and an awkward smile. A teal bag hangs over his left shoulder.

  I wordlessly gesture him in, and he stalls for a moment before entering.

  “Is Mrs. Ramones—”

  “In the living room.” Once I close the door, I head straight upstairs. Dakota seems to pace by the shoe rack for a minute before I hear him talking to my mom. Their voices fade out as I ascend the stairs and go to lock myself in my room.

  I recline in my computer chair and close my eyes. The distant sound of the front door slamming signifies my mother’s departure. I didn’t have any plans of what to do tonight besides assignments, but it would be more comforting if I knew I wouldn’t have to linger in the kitchen to cook dinner while Dakota and Matty are around.

  By the time I muster up the nerve to go downstairs and grab some food, it’s nearing seven o’clock. I leave my phone on my desk and go to the kitchen. Dakota’s cooking something for Matty again, and he greets me casually when I walk in. I ignore him and open the freezer to get out a bag of frozen fruit. I pour it into a bowl and avoid his prying eyes.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want to eat?” Dakota asks. “You can have some of the spaghetti I’m making.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “That’s not really dinner, Justin.”

  “Whatever,” I say on my way back down the hall.

  I head upstairs to find my phone buzzing uncontrollably on my desk. There are thirty-seven unread messages sitting in my inbox from the group chat with Jeremy and Kev. I scroll through them without really reading anything until my eyes fall on one text where Kev throws around several colorful insults directed at me for not responding.

  The sour feeling in my stomach germinates, and I don’t bother texting back. My notifications keep going off with more texts from them, and I decide to shut down their plans of seeing a movie this Friday by lying and saying I’m busy. They keep sending messages, but I mute the chat and barely refrain from throwing my phone against the wall.

  NOTHING BUT the same basic routine traps me for the next week and a half. All I do is go to the few day classes I have and spend the rest of my time on online assignments and making a point of avoiding Kev and Jeremy whenever I’m on campus. In the evenings, Dakota and I barely speak to each other. I have no desire to communicate with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind that. I prefer to think of it as us calmly existing in a blissful state of mutual ignorance. This doesn’t stop me from feeling unnerved whenever I pass by him and Matty sitting in near silence in the kitchen or living room. Matty’s smiling more often than not when he’s with Dakota. I feel inadequate.

  ON THURSDAY, my mom decides to carpool to work with her friend so they can go out to some restaurant and stay out late. I resist the urge to take the car out for a spin until around eight, when the boredom of letting an essay about Renaissance art drain the life out of me nearly makes me homicidal. My feet propel me out of my room and down the stairs until I’m grabbing the extra set of keys and slipping on my shoes and jacket. I halt right before opening the door and decide to head down the hallway and look into the living room, where the TV is playing some kids’ show at a low volume.

  Dakota and Matty are sitting on the floor together, surrounded by several dozen colored papers with scribbles all over them. Dakota is folding some complicated shape out of paper.

  “Hey,” I say hoarsely, then clear my throat when Dakota looks up at me. “I’m going for a drive.”

  “Cool,” he says. “Have fun.” He looks down for a moment before handing my brother an origami swan. Matty takes it slowly and grins to himself.

  “Okay,” I say. “Bye.”

  “Say ‘bye’ to your brother, Matty,” Dakota whispers. He makes an exaggerated waving motion with his fingers, and Matty languidly mimics it.

  I turn around and head out the door.

  The air outside is frigid, and I sit in the driver’s seat and wait for the windows to defrost before I go anywhere. Driving helps me focus and let go of my thoughts, but I figure I’ll probably circle into some parking lot and sit there on my phone until I run out of battery.

  Hours pass me by as I get lost on the road. Not lost, but entranced enough in driving that I notice it’s close to eleven and I still haven’t stopped, despite taking the same loop on and off the highway repeatedly. I eventually pull into the parking lot in front of the pharmacy and turn down the rock music to sit and scroll through my phone.

  Several unread texts from Jeremy sit in my inbox, and they’re all bullshit about getting together and going to one of the events on campus. I can’t bring myself to reply and tell him and Kev that I’m uninterested. I can’t bring myself to ask them whether they want to come over tomorrow. The baseline opening of a post-hardcore song I like comes on the playlist, and I crank up the volume until it drowns out my imminent migraine. I nearly rear-end a pole when I swerve out of the parking lot and head home.

  My fingers freeze in the short distance between the driveway and the front door, so I have trouble getting the key in. The door jerks open and I nearly drop my keys.

  “Had a nice excursion?” Dakota asks. He steps aside to let me in and closes the door behind me.

  I shrug. I turn away to hang up my jacket and take off my shoes. I glance at him quizzically when he doesn’t move. “Where’s Matty?”

  “Asleep. He got a little hyperactive when some TV show came on earlier, so I put him to bed and he conked out.”

  “Oh, okay.” I glance at Dakota, and we stare at each other until he rubs his neck and breaks eye contact. “What’ve you been doing since?”

  “Hmm? Nothing. I was just coming downstairs when you decided to take five minutes jiggling the lock.”

  “It’s cold out,” I explain. “I still can’t really feel my hands.”

  “Wear gloves next time,” Dakota says.

  I shake my head and dig my phone out of my pocket. “My mom said she’d be coming home late. What’re you gonna do for now?”

  “Probably just wait in the living room.”

  I frown at him. “All right. I’m gonna….” I wave my hand aimlessly. “I have a headache. I’m gonna go take some pills and lie down or something.”

  Dakota nods and follows me once I walk down the hall, but he heads into the living room while I go to forage through the kitchen cupboard. I can’t recall where the ibuprofen is and search through several drawers before giving up. With Dakota out of the way, I boil some water to make coffee and hope the caffeine might mellow me out.

  Once I have a mug of heavily sugared coffee in my hand, I decide to go upstairs. I impulsively stop in the doorway to the living room instead. Dakota is slouching on the couch with his nose buried in a sketchbook. The TV is quietly playing some idiotic drama film.

  I convince myself that I’m just too exhausted to go upstairs. I sit down on the opposite side of the couch, leaving almost a full cushion between me and Dakota. “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some,” I say.

  Dakota glances at me for a millisecond before he resumes sketching. “Thanks, but caffeine does weird things to me. Did you find the pills?”

  “No, but coffee tends to help me for some reason.” I try to crane my neck to see his paper. “What’re you drawing?”

  He adjusts his position to further obscure his sketchbook from me. “I don’t really like people watching me draw.”

  I frown. “How come?”

  “It’s the—” He cuts himself off. “Maybe I’ll show you later.”

  “All right.” I don’t know why I feel an ambiguous sense of disappointment. I sip my coffee and flick my eyes between him and the boring film on TV every so often.

  Dakota catches me off guard when he speaks up after several minutes of tense silence. “Where are your, uh, your friends? I haven’t seen them around in the last week.”

  I take a breath and study him for a moment. He looks up at me inquisitively when I fail to answer, before he goes back to drawing. I sigh again.

  “I don’t know, I just don’t really like hanging around people that I can’t be genuine with, you know?”

  Dakota snorts softly. “Yeah. I know.”

  My jaw clenches from the sudden rush of anger and frustration in my gut. “I’m just tired of feeling judged indirectly.”

  He hums. “Did they say something?”

  “God.” I tug at my hair. “They’ve been saying things. It just took me ages to finally snap.”

  “Just the final straw, then?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess it was fine when it was just passive comments, but I saw a text from Kev where he said that if I don’t answer, then I’m acting like a homo faggot killjoy, and I just—” I take another deep breath and force myself to take a sip of my coffee. I nearly choke on it and put my mug down, wiping my mouth. Why the fuck am I telling Dakota this if I can’t even bring myself to look at him?

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry,” I exhale. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

 

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