“You’ve been in trouble for vandalizing, backtalking, and cutting class.” She takes a pause to wipe a fallen tear. “But thank God you didn’t break into Loren Hale’s home that night. Watching your best friends get in trouble—I thought that was your wakeup call. But you’re still skipping school. You still won’t listen to me or your father. You won’t speak to your brothers. Nothing has changed.”
Everything has changed.
I’m certain that I’m not the same anymore. I feel overturned. Inside-out. I’m fighting against the person they want me to be and fighting for the person I am inside.
The fact that she can’t even see this makes me wonder who she’s even looking at. Does she even know me at all? Or is she still resenting the fourth son she was given?
I shrug and turn on my game.
With the biggest sigh, she retreats into the kitchen, and I numbly scroll through Street Fighter II characters. Every so often, I hear her sniffle like she’s silently crying. I make no effort to comfort my mom, and it’s fucked up.
I realize that, but a sick part of me wants her to feel as terrible as I do. How many times have I shown her bruises from Hunter’s fists and lacrosse stick? How many times has she repeated my father’s phrase, get thicker skin?
My skin could be superhumanly thick, and I’d still get bruises and broken bones. What then, Mom?
From the kitchen, I hear the sliding glass doors swoosh open and my oldest brother’s voice.
“Mom, what happened?” Davis asks. “Why are you crying?”
Shit.
I quickly pause the game and shut off the television. My brothers must file into the kitchen, one-by-one, because they each say a few consoling words while my mom blubbers something about wanting me to be with the family this Christmas.
“He’s with us, Mom.” Davis comforts her easily.
While I stand, I catch a glimpse of my mom through the archway, dabbing her tear-streaked cheeks with a dishrag.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t run off to his friends,” Hunter says.
My nose flares, and I find myself waiting—to listen in. I should move. I should go. I know better.
“It’s not like he has many friends left around,” Mitchell says with a short, uneasy laugh. Like he’s not sure if anyone else will love his joke.
Hunter does. “That’s right.” He laughs mockingly. “What does he have, like one friend?”
“You can’t be surprised he lost them all,” Davis says to our mom, I think. “If he’s not on his computer, then he’s on his cellphone or playing video games. The kid is socially inept.”
I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw aches. This is what my family really thinks of me. A socially inept, lazy delinquent. Whatever.
“Mom, don’t cry,” Davis says.
“I’ll get him to play two-on-two basketball with us,” Hunter reassures her. “You can be sure of that.”
I start high-tailing my ass towards the back staircase. I can lock myself in my bedroom or crawl out the window and sit on the roof.
For how big Hunter is, he’s somehow deceivingly fast. Right as my foot touches the first stair, he fists the back of my hoodie and yanks me backwards.
My pulse explodes, and I spin frantically out of his hold. But my movement forces me back into the living room.
“Where are you going?” Hunter sneers.
“To the moon,” I spit back, frozen by the couch. I’m afraid to try and pass his body to reach the stairs.
Davis and Mitchell linger behind me, their irritations bubbling. All three have the same short haircut, and they wear nearly the same clothes: Polo shirts and khakis.
My oldest brother takes a couple steps towards me. “Can you please be cooperative? For once?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Mom is in the kitchen crying because you won’t spend time with us. Do you even care?”
I shake my head and blurt out, “I don’t care.” I come across like the biggest punk ass, and where Davis and Hunter grow red, Mitchell sighs like I’m digging my own grave.
“Come on, Garrison,” he says.
I’m not going to be like Mitchell. I’m not going to pretend that Davis and Hunter shit gold. I hate them too much to embrace that illusion.
“Let’s just go play basketball,” Mitchell says and nods towards the backdoor.
I pull my fallen hood over my head. “I’m not going outside.”
Davis rolls his eyes like I’m being unreasonably stubborn.
Hunter pokes my back. “You need the fucking sun.”
I flinch away from him, and Hunter sidles to our other brothers.
Davis scans the living room furniture, the black television screen, and my game console and controllers. “We can play video games then.”
A chill rakes my arms, uneasy and hesitant. “Yeah?” I wonder, watching Mitchell grab an Xbox controller and take a seat on the tufted chair. I was playing on the Sega Genesis console, but I have different ones hooked up to this television.