“We’re not boys anymore,” he announced solemnly at his birthday party last weekend. “We’re young men.”
You haven’t been able to talk to any of them since it all happened. You didn’t even get to answer their texts before Dad confiscated your phone. But you picture them texting you now. Wondering what’s up. Piling into Tyler’s mom’s car and driving to your house only to find out you can’t come along.
You huff and roll out of bed.
“Where are you going?” Marshall asks as you walk past his open door. He’s stretched out on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Your brother’s got a good six inches in height on you, and his face is less round, but you still kind of look alike. Same hair, though he’s started growing his out a bit. Same eyes. Same nose. Same smile, you think, though Marshall seems to get a lot more attention from girls for his than you do for yours. Which isn’t fair, since you had the same orthodontist.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I need to text the guys. We were supposed to go out today. But Mom and Dad still have my phone.”
Marshall chuckles. “Good luck with that, then. You know what they’re like.”
You do.
No exceptions, that’s Mom’s rule.Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, that’s Dad’s.
“I know.”
You sigh. God, maybe Dr. Matthews is rubbing off on you. Or maybe sighing is just a thing you do more of when you grow up.
“But the guys are probably on their way. I haven’t even been able to tell them I’m grounded.”
“They probably guessed,” Marshall says, putting down his phone and crossing his arms. “You screwed up, bro. Big-time.”
“I know. I’m sorry. What else do you want from me?”
Marshall just shakes his head. But you must look really pathetic, because his frown softens.
“Here. You’ve got two minutes. Don’t look at my photos.” He holds out his phone.
One, you’re definitely not going to look at his photos, because,gross.
Two, you don’t tell Marshall often enough, so: “I love you.”
He scoffs as he hands you his phone, but you realize he doesn’t have anyone’s number. You switch over to Instagram and send Cooper a DM.
It’s Dayton not Marshall
Can’t make it today my dude
Grounded
You and the guys never called each otherdudebefore. Much lessmy dude. But last week Tyler sent the group a meme of a bunch of forty-year-olds playing Roblox and calling one anothermy dudethat had you all in stitches, so now you all use it ironically.
You wait for Cooper to answer. Maybe he doesn’t recognize Marshall’s account. But it’s got Marshall’s face as the profile pic, and Cooper’s been at your house often enough to recognize your brother.
Maybe he and Tyler are already at Sephora. Maybe Cooper’s already spritzing the little sampler wands and waving them, talking about top notes and woods versus florals. And Tyler’s already pronouncing all the different names in a dramatic French accent.
Maybe Cooper’s got his notifications muted. Or maybe he just doesn’t have signal. It comes and goes in that Sephora.
But they wouldn’t go to Sephora without you. Without at least checking on you.
Five seconds. Ten. Thirty.
Marshall raises his eyebrows, holds out his hand. You’re about to give it back, but finally, finally, Cooper responds.
We figured.
That’s all it says. Two words.
