I gave him a look. He was trying to be sly, too sly. He still called me Brandpow and Scarlett Aunt Scarlett. He must’ve ditched class to bring the girls over to impress them.
One of the girls ran to our mantle, looking over the pictures. She called her friends over.
“Look! There she is!”
“Oh my God!”
“She’ssooopretty!”
“No,” I said, moving closer. We had an issue back home with a woman who stole Scarlett’s pictures. Janet—Jane?—Jones. “She’s beautiful.”
The three girls all sighed, almost melting into a puddle in front of the fireplace.
“Her beast,” one of them whispered.
Bright eyes stared at me, and I cleared my throat. I wasn’t good with kids. Eunice came down then, a basket of clothes in her hands.
“Eunice,” I said. “Will you—” I waved a hand at them.
Her eyes connected with the girls, and she stuck the basket on the sofa, offering them something to eat and drink.
“You.” I took Peter by the neck. “Come with me.”
He went to go upstairs, but I directed him to the pantry. “I doubt you want to go that way. Mamma Bird is up there.”
He shivered. Violet usually shadowed Scarlett during the day. I shut the door behind us, smelling onions and garlic and the usual pantry smells.
“Explain.”
“I—I like one of the girls, Brandpow,” he stammered out. “And she started going on and on about how her mom and dad took her to the ballet over the weekend and she saw Aunt Scarlett dance.Herfavorite.”
“You thought that would give you a better chance.”
He smirked. “I got three instead of one, didn’t I?”
I couldn’t stop the smirk that came to my face. “You did.” Then I remembered why we were here. “You should’ve waited until after school.”
“Well.” He shrugged. “You just don’t understand the intensity these girls have for her. It’s such athing.” He squealed, mimicking them.
“Like Instagram?”
He gave a faint smile. “You found out about that?”
“You knew,” I said, lowering my voice. I heard Violet talking to the deliverymen. Peter flinched.
“The girls go crazy over you, Brandpow,” he whispered. “That’s whatIwant.”
I sighed, not sure where to go with this thread of conversation, so I changed the subject. “What’s this I hear about you beating your brother up,” I said.
“He’s a bitch!”
Whatever he saw on my face made him take a step back. He held his hands up. “Honest! He beatsmeup. Nonstop. I have to defend myself!”
“Spend some time with him. Talk to him. See if that helps.”
“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.
Screams loud enough to pierce the eardrum blasted throughout the house. Peter and I looked at each other. The shock on his face no doubt mirrored mine. Then I lunged for the door when Scarlett’s scream mingled with the others.
