Andrew dramatically folds the paper in front of him and gives me a good, long exhale. “You spent the night here, I see.”

I nod. Well, glad we got that out of the way.

“You know about my parents, don’t you? Someone must’ve told you, if not Renée.”

Change of direction much? I look up into his eyes, which are still hard, but now with prepared stoniness rather than anger or pride. There’s no right way to go about this, is there? How the fuck can I answer that? Why does this big fucking monkey have to bring that shit up to me? The venom spins inside me, like a top, frustrated, backed into a corner. After last night, after that shower just now, I can’t fight Andrew.

“Yeah,” I croak through a mouthful of the venom. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” His eyes flitter like those of a trapped animal, like he can’t focus on anything for too long or else it becomes his parents. “I’m incredibly territorial about my sister, Locke. Don’t know what you heard, but my parents died ’cause of me, so I tend to think of myself as her protector.”

“They…It wasn’t your fault, Andrew.”

“You SHUT UP!” he screams. There’s no drama or facade to this statement; it’s a primal scream, an uncontrolled blast. I’ve never seen someone get angry and go pale at the same time. The screaming stops as abruptly as it began. “Shut up. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Vinetti, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to have an opinion on the matter. I made a mistake and they died because of it, simple as that. Have you ever lost a parent, Locke?”

“My dad left us, and I…think it’s ’cause I’m such a spaz.” Jesus. I’ve never said that out loud before. “But it’s not the same thing.”

“Damn right it isn’t,” he snaps. “You don’t know shit. You don’t have any fucking idea. My dad left a long time ago, and it wasn’t because of a choice, it was because he was addicted to crystal, and we couldn’t get him to stop pawning off about seventy percent of everything we owned. You can’t-you can’t comprehend what the fuck this family has been through just ’cause your dad left… It’s not even the same species.”

I shut my eyes tight as the venom brays for blood. Before I can stop myself, the heat behind my eyes gets too high and I blurt out, “Well, what I went through was pretty fucking bad, so how about you watch your mouth, okay?”

He sneers for a second and then says, “Fair enough. My apologies.”

The venom is shifting like an eel in a coffee can. Andrew’s still being an asshole, and the urge to smash his face in is incredible, but something’s off here. He’s articulate. He’s giving me an inch, for once. What’s the fucking deal?

“I am very territorial of my sister,” he repeats, “no matter what kind of psycho shit she’s into. She’s my family. And she…” I can see the words arranging themselves in his head. “Renée hasn’t done too good since it happened. She’s not happy a lot. She’s full of fucking pills most of the time, but they keep her pretty cohesive and carefree, so I don’t say nothing about it, but I’ll tell you that I don’t like it, and I hate these freaks she surrounds herself with. I hate that mincing queer buddy of yours, I hate the tall Mohawked black kid, but most of all, I’m beside myself that she’s ended up with you.”

“Tough shit, she’s my girlfriend.” Again, the venom seems to speak for me, standing up when I don’t have the spine to.

“Watch yourself, Vinetti.”

“Thanks for the advice, Andrew. There a fucking point to this?”

His eyes harden on me, and I can feel his anger in the air between us. “The pills keep her okay,” he seethes, ignoring my statement. “And so do you. Apparently.”

Something catches in my throat. The venom stops in its tracks, somewhere between infuriated and confused. ”Go on.”

“She talks about you quite a bit. She’s had little pep talks about you with me, which is why I don’t destroy your ass regularly for touching her, though I will say, the desire to kill you has been somewhat overwhelming.” He sneers, disgusted. “And it pisses me off that you get your spastic little hands on her whenever you feel like it. It…incenses me. Fancy word, you like that? I didn’t get into our school ’cause of Mommy and Daddy or basketball or any corner-cutting bullshit-I studied my ass off and got the grades I deserve. You think you’re King Shit because you’re all fucking tragic, but you’re no smarter or classier than me.” I feel his eyes skim me up and down. Planning on where he could break me. “But you keep her okay. She’s happy a lot. She sings fucking Joy Division in the shower again and can get out of bed on her own. And if that’s the case, maybe she’ll be okay…y’know, finally. So I want to make a deal with you. Set some things straight.”

He stares, waiting for me to reply, but all I’m doing is focusing on not going on a rampage. Think of Renée. He’s doing this for her, and so are you.

“Keep her happy,” he rasps out. “Don’t hurt her, don’t treat her like a piece of meat, and we’ll be okay. I don’t like you, Vinetti, but if you make her happy enough to forget what happened, then I can stand you. And I think that’s all we both want.”

“So basically, you’re telling me that if I act like an asshole, you’re going to kill me.”

“Yeah. But if you keep yourself in check, I’ll leave you alone. And…” He sighs, resigned. “She asked me to do this part a week or two ago-I’ll start calling you Locke now.” He stares for a bit longer, and then says, “You have a little brother, right? So you get where I’m at.”

I want to be angry. I want to go on a rampage of pure hatred. But the last words kill me, and all the hot, rebellious anger behind the venom deflates, leaving me with just the horrible black depression. He’s right. I think of Lon and I know exactly where he’s at. As much as I want to hate, empathy wins this round.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, okay.”

Before I can sputter out more brilliant insight, Renée walks into the room singing, “I don’t hear eggs cooking!” and then halts at the doorway with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. Andrew looks up at her with a mixture of pride and fear and whispers, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says back, her eyes darting to my downturned face and back to Andrew’s. “Should I leave?”

“No, but I should,” he grunts as he rises. “I’m meeting George to smoke out in about half an hour. I gotta get dressed.” As he walks past, he takes the time to stop and put his hand on her shoulder and squeeze. Her hand shoots up to his and squeezes it back, and her eyes and mouth go tight.

“Wanna go see Mom this weekend? I got some time free.”

She nods. “I’d like that,” she says.

“All right, well…just let me know when. I’ll get someone to give us a ride.”

“Okay.”

And then he’s gone, his door slamming shut and his music blasting.

Renée runs a hand through my hair. “You okay, hon?”

I sigh, trying to breathe out my anger. “Got any chocolate milk?”

As I’m sliding my key into the lock of my apartment, it dawns on me that I forgot to call my mom. Between consummating my relationship and breaking bread with a heartbroken behemoth, I totally forgot to call home.

I open the door just enough that I can slip through it by turning sideways. Every board in the house creaks and moans as I tiptoe my way to my bedroom. The plan is simple: get undressed, get under the covers, and pretend like she just didn’t hear me get in.

As I’m reaching the door to my room, I take one last momentary glance around the house. No sign of Mom. Maybe she’s out. Booyah. I slide the door open and slither into my room without so much as a click.

“You’re in deep shit,” says my mom as she folds my under-pants.

“Hi!” God hates me. At least, more than usual.

“First off, I don’t pay a cell phone bill for you to turn the thing off.” Her folding grows more and more frantic. Socks are being balled at sound-barrier speeds. “And second, with how you’ve been acting the last couple of months, I would hope you understand that I’m a little concerned about you.”