You know Xander Hale asthe most beautifulfourteen-year-old boy in the entire world. As said by you. You swoon over him like he’s the lead singer in a boy band or a famous social media star. You covet any photos you find online and cause his name to trend weekly. You’ve made his money-shots worthquadruplewhat mine sell for—and in effect, paparazzi stalk him like he’s the rarest, most hidden antelope of the pack. When in reality, he’s an endangered, timid bird.
I know him as my little brother. An amazing human being who speaks Elfish if you hang around him long enough. Who’s just trying to live in a world that’s a little too big for him. Who I’ll never give up on.
I just want him to be able to feel the light now and then. If I have to wrangle the sun out of the fucking sky with my bare hands, then I’ll withstand the burn. I’d give it all to him if I could.
Fair warning: imagine your toes being sawed off, and that’s what’ll happen if you fuck with my brother.
“You look like shit,” I say honestly. “You know what would help that?”
“Two more hours of sleep.”
“Swimming in the backyard pool with your big brother.”
Xander sighs into a glare. “Just come here and play video games with me. Stop trying to make me so…”
“Healthy, thriving, a human who goes outside?—”
“Alright, alright,” he says. “Jesus, you’re relentless.”
My microwave beeps. I pull out the bowl of chips, and when I return to my phone, I notice Xander squinting at the screen.
I give him a look. “You picking your nose?” I eat a chip.
He scratches his cellphone like he’s trying to wipe a smudge off the screen. “What…what is that on your neck? Is that ahickey?”
I cough on my chip.Fuck.I drop my phone on the counter and fill a cup of water under the faucet. I down the water while Xander yells, “What, where’d you go—I need details!”
What’s the chance that Farrow would be that careless and give me a grade-school hickey?Slim.Maybe it’s not that bad.
I return to my phone and examine my neck in the screen. A dime-sized spot is faintly red. Probably because it happened recently. I doubt it’ll last. “What kind of details do you want?” I ask my brother.
He contemplates my question for a long moment and he settles on this: “Is the other person alive?”
I smile.I love my family.
Xander explains, “Luna says that whoever you hook up with instantlydisintegratesinto astral particles. Never to be seen or heard from again.”
“That’s a fucking terrible superpower.”
“No kidding.” Xander hot-potatoes his toasted pastry. “P.S. Dad is throwing a party in honor of your license suspension today. Everyone is pretty happy.”
“I saw the group-text.” The party isparents onlywhich is kind of bullshit since it’s about me. I eat another chip. “Are you happy about it too?” I ask.
He shrugs and then looks at his pastry. Xander reaches some pretty low lows, and our parents hawk-eye him a lot. They’re even more aware of his health than I can be.
Xander barely lifts his gaze to the camera. “I overheard Thatcher saying the Camp-Away’s new format is ‘life-threateningly’ dangerous.” Thatcher Morettiis his 24/7 bodyguard, but young girls bombard Xander so often that Banks Moretti, Thatcher’s identical twin, is also on my brother’s detail.
“Thatcher is one of the stricter guys,” I remind Xander. “He’s probably overreacting.”
“Yeah but…” A tense beat passes before he tells me, “I need you to live long, Moffy.” He pauses, his eyes glassing a little bit. He scratches his nose and then rotates the camera to face his paper plate.
I stare hard at the phone.
My whole life, I’ve seen the media and nameless, faceless human beings shit on the people I love. Over and over. Clawing with no end in sight. Trying desperately to tear them apart. Ripping at the jugular. I walked on a sidewalk at ten-years-old and heard the wordrapethrown at my mom in threat.
You wonder why I didn’t become bitter at the world.
You wonder why I don’t resent the world.
