I’ve got to get my brother out of the house before he turns into a hermit. He skipped class twice last week. He’s getting lazy about showering and shaving, too. I can live with the not shaving, but the not showering? That’s another story. Plus, his room is starting to smell pretty rank. I have to hold my breath on the way to the bathroom so I don’t inhale Eau d’Stinky Bro.

“Can’t you do something?” I complained to Mom. “It’s so gross. His room smells like a cross between an armpit and a gym sock.”

Mom laughed, but her sense of humor was short-lived.

“He’s my son, Stella, but he’s also a grown-up,” she said. “I can’t force him to do things the way I could when he was a little kid.”

“But it’s not fair,” I complained. “He’s not the only one who lives in this house.”

“I have to pick my battles,” Mom said. “And right now, I’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

Easy for her to say. Her bedroom isn’t right across the hall and she doesn’t have to share a bathroom with him.

Well, I’m picking my battles, and I’m going to get that smelly lump of a brother out of the house if it kills me. Since Jason died, the only time he’s willingly gone outside is for college—when he’s not skipping class, that is—or to walk Peggy. That’s only because he won’t let her suffer.

Too bad he doesn’t seem to care about making me suffer. If only he cared as much about the rest of us as much as he cares about the dog.

Doesn’t he see the dark circles under Mom’s eyes, because she’s so worried about him? Doesn’t he understand how freaked out we all are? Doesn’t he realize that I feel sick to my stomach every time I open the front door after school, because I’m afraid I’ll find him like Jason?

Still, as angry as I am at him for putting us all through this, I keep reminding myself that he’s hurting. That I need to be there for my brother.

So that’s what I’m going to do. They’re having a special showing of the director’s cut of Alien at the mall. It’s not really my thing, but I know it’s one of Rob’s favorite movies. 1979 isn’t as old as I usually go for, but it still counts as a classic, and Ken said it’s awesome. Best of all, for a few hours Rob will be out of the house and hopefully out of his head, too.

Going on the premise that it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, I buy the tickets online and then go to tell Rob that he’s coming.

“Hey, I got us tickets to see Alien. It’s the director’s cut. Four thirty show at the mall. C’mon, go get dressed so we don’t miss the previews.”

He doesn’t even look up from the video game he’s playing. “Did you think of asking if I wanted to go? Because the answer is no.”

“The answer is always no with you these days,” I say. “That’s why I didn’t ask. It’s time to say yes for a change. The running time is one hour and fifty-seven minutes. You can handle being out of the house for that long. We’ll come straight home after.”

“No.”

“Come ooooooon, Rob! You love the movie. You always tell me what a cultural heathen I am because I’ve never watched this movie about a gross face-hugging space monster. I’m ready and willing. Let’s do it.”

His mouth twitches. I’ve cracked the stone face. He’s half smiling. Progress! I will wear him down. I know how to be an annoying, nagging little sister. I’ve had years of practice. I can do this.

“Gross face-hugging space monster?” Rob says, finally pausing his game and putting down the controller. He stretches. “That’s just wrong.”

“All the more reason for you to make sure I’m educated on this scary sci-fi stuff so I don’t embarrass you,” I say. “Or else you’ll never know when I might drop that wrong phrase in front of your friends. It would be so awkward.”

“So awkward,” Rob agrees. The other side of his mouth quirks up. This is the closest he’s come to a full-out grin since Jason checked out.

“Come on. Let’s go see Alien,” I beg. “It’ll be fun.”

The smile fades, and I’m afraid I’ve blown it.

“I don’t know,” Rob says. “I’m not up to being around people.”

Like the debate queen that I am, I’ve already prepared for that argument.

“You don’t have to be around that many people. We can get there right before the movie starts, go straight in, and come straight back after,” I tell him. “It shouldn’t be that crowded on a weekday.”

His fingers drum his knee. He’s still on the fence. I have to push him over.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Rob runs his hands through his hair and stands up.

“Okay, little sister. Count me in.”

“Yes!” I put out my fist and he gives it a half-hearted bump. I decide to push a little further. “Could you maybe … uh … change your shirt?”

“What, you don’t want to be seen with me in my three-day-old green tee?” he says, lifting it over his head and giving me a gag-inducing whiff of stinky armpit.

“How about putting on some deodorant, too?” I suggest, trying not to go too Mom on him. “I mean, I have to sit next to you and all.”

“Sheesh, give the girl an inch and she takes a mile,” Rob complains, but he shuffles upstairs to change.

I use the opportunity to take Peggy out for a quick walk to the end of the street. While I’m doing that, I text Mom: Convinced Rob to go see Alien! 4:30 show at mall. See you later!

I’m just coming back in when she replies: Great job! Have fun. Love you xo.

Rob is downstairs, wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans and it even looks like he jumped in the shower because he smells like body wash and his hair is wet. Apparently, miracles do happen.

“Got the tickets?”

“On my phone,” I say.

“Let’s do this thing,” he says, giving Peggy a last pat and heading for the garage.

We’re halfway to the mall when he says, “You’re allowed to breathe. And stop clutching the door handle.”

I look down and smile sheepishly when I realize that I’m gripping the handle so hard my knuckles are white.

“You’re worse than Mom when I was learning how to drive,” Rob says.

“That’s just cruel,” I say, putting my hands in my lap.

Rob glances at me with a slight grin.

“Tell me you haven’t been sitting there waiting for me to lose it.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but what’s the point? He’ll know I’m lying. “So what if I have? Can you blame me? You haven’t exactly been Mr. Normal lately.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth I feel like a total jerk. I’m supposed to be supportive and compassionate and I told him he was acting crazy. Way to empathize, Stella!

But Rob laughs. Go figure.

“I can always trust you to tell it like it is,” he says. “Everyone else tiptoes around the subject, but Stella marches right in and names it.”

Ever since he got back from this latest deployment, I can count on my big brother to confuse me. Before, I could pretty much predict how he’d react in any given situation. Now I have no idea. It’s exhausting.

“Don’t worry,” Rob says. “Sometimes it’s a relief to hear it said out loud.”

Sometimes?

But what about the other times? How do I know when to say it and when not to?

As we pull in the mall lot, the car in front of us stops suddenly, and my brother slams on the brakes so hard I almost hit my head against the dash, even though I’m wearing a seat belt.

“What’s your problem?” Rob shouts, leaning on the horn. “No one’s even in front of you, moron!”

A black-and-white dog streaks across to the other side of the road, looking even more freaked out than my brother.

“Chill, Rob!” I snap, watching the dog escape between parked cars headed for the Olive Garden trash bins. “They braked so they didn’t run over a dog.”

The car rolls forward and as it does, I hear what sounds like a cross between a hiccup and a burp come from Rob.

“What do you call that weird noise? A biccup?”

When he doesn’t even groan at my joke, I turn to look at Rob and once again I’m confused. His face is contorted as if he’s in pain.

Maybe this mall excursion was a bad idea. Maybe he’s not up to this.

I’m worried that I might not be up to it, either.

“Rob, are—” No, don’t ask if he’s okay, because duh, of course he’s not. “What’s going on?”

He keeps driving, with slow, deliberate, careful concentration, like he’s working to hold it together, until he finds an empty space not far from the mall entrance, pulls in, and turns off the engine. Then he puts his arms across the wheel, lowers his head, and breaks down, his shoulders heaving as he sobs.

Freaked out, I unbuckle my seat belt and lean across the console to put my arm around him.

“What is it?” I ask.

I wonder if I should call Mom or Dad. I wonder if I should get him into the passenger seat, turn the car around, and drive home. I wonder if I should just sit here with my arm around him until he’s ready to tell me what is making him lose it.

“The d-dog,” he manages to get out, but that doesn’t really explain much. I know Rob loves dogs, but I can’t understand why he’s crying over a dog that escaped death, but he stayed dry-eyed when his friend Jason didn’t.

I rummage in the glove compartment in search of tissues. Luckily, I find a few crumpled-up McDonalds napkins. I hand them to him silently.

“Thanks,” he says.

After he’s wiped his face and blown his nose, I finally muster the courage to ask, “So … what about the dog? I … don’t understand.”

Rob takes a deep, shuddering breath and grips the steering wheel.

“We had just left a village when one of the trucks in our convoy got a flat. We never liked to stop ’cause it meant we were sitting ducks, but we didn’t have a choice. I was pulling security. I see this boy, must have been around ten, coming across the field from where he’d been tending his goats. He had a dog with him, this skinny, rangy-looking thing.”

I’m still trying to figure out what this has to do with Mall Dog, when he continues, “The kid is smiling at me and saying something, I don’t know what, ’cause he’s speaking Pashto. I’ve still got my finger on the trigger, because you never know, but the next thing I know I’m on my back, I can’t hear, and the kid is dead.”

I gasp.

“He stepped on an IED. I just keep seeing it, Stella. Over and over.”

Now I’m the one trying to hold it together.

“The dog wasn’t dead. You could tell it wasn’t going to make it, but it was still alive and suffering. My ears were messed up from the blast, but I could still hear that poor dog whining, even through the ringing.”

He inhales loudly before continuing.

“So I put him out of his misery. It was the right thing to do. But later, when we got back to base, I got the letter from Mom telling me that y’all had to put down Cosmo. It felt like payback, ’cause if that truck hadn’t broken down, maybe that poor kid and his dog might still be alive.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Rob. You were just doing your job.” That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? It’s the truth, but will it help?

“Yeah, I was ‘just obeying orders,’” he says. “Look, I know we didn’t plant that IED. But maybe if I’d shouted at the kid to go away instead of smiling at him because he was a kid who could have been me if I’d been born halfway across the world, he would still be alive.”

I wish I knew what else to say. I want to help Rob, but this is bigger than what I’ve got. Feeling helpless, I hug him and hope that’s enough. “I love you, Rob. I know that you’re a good person.”

Rob pulls away and leans his forehead against the window with a heavy sigh.

Great job, Stella. Way to say the wrong thing.

But I don’t know what else to say. If I agree with him that it’s horrible, wouldn’t it make him feel worse? I mean, it is horrible.

I look over at my brother. I don’t have more to say, so I just sit there saying nothing, hating myself more for it each second the silence drags on.

Finally, Rob wipes his face with his arm, and it’s as if he pulls a mask back over his face. “Let’s go see this movie. That’s why I bothered taking a shower and putting on clean clothes, right?”

He’s acting like the crying thing never happened, so I follow his lead.

“And deodorant, I hope.”

“Yeah, Mom, and deodorant.”

I wonder if I should text Mom and Dad to tell them about this latest incident, but I don’t want Rob to feel like I’m narcing on him, so I leave my phone in my pocket.

Rob tenses up as we walking into the mall. His eyes swivel from side to side, and his shoulders hunch over. His anxiety drifts over me like a cold mist, until I’m completely enveloped in it, too.

Luckily, there’s no line for popcorn, and there aren’t that many people in the theater.

I head toward seats in the middle, where we always sit.

“Not there,” Rob says. He walks to the very back row.

“Why do we have to sit all the way back here?” I ask.

“Why not?” he says.

“Because we always sit in the middle.”

“Life changes. You gotta learn to change with it,” he says, his eyes darting over my shoulder.

I turn around and see an Emergency Exit sign.

Shrugging, I sit down next to him and wonder if he’s given me a clue. Is whatever’s going on with him about change I don’t understand because I haven’t changed with him?

I’m relieved when the movie starts, because it gives me a chance to escape from this mystery. I’m afraid to look at Rob, but I hope it’s doing the same for him. It’s not till he leans over and whispers, “This part is the best!” that I unclench my fingers from the armrest. I didn’t even realize I was gripping it so hard.

Maybe this will work. Maybe it can be the start of something—a baby step toward bringing my brother back to us.

When the final credits roll, Rob turns to me and smiles.

“Thanks, Stella. I know you had to drag me here, but it was worth it.”

“How about we celebrate by getting froyo at the food court?”

“Froyo? Nah. I want the real thing. We’re getting ice cream.”

“Fine,” I say. “As long as it’s cold and sweet.”

Rob’s tension seems to amp up again as we walk to the food court, and I wonder if I should have just let it go at the movie.

“Why don’t we forget the ice cream?” I say, hoping he doesn’t see through my obvious attempt to get him out of here. “Mom will be mad if we ruin our appetite for dinner.”

“You put the idea of ice cream in my head and now you’re bailing?” Rob says. “No way, wimp.”

His eyes are darting one way and the other, checking out the doorway of each store. But if he’s not admitting to anything bothering him, then I’ll play along.

“Okay, ice cream it is.”

At least the food court isn’t as crowded as it would be on the weekend.

I spot Wade Boles and Jed Landon sitting at a table. With Rob acting wiggy, they’re the last people I want to bump into, so I steer us around the outside of the food court toward Dreamsicle Creamsicles.

Rob orders two scoops of cookies ’n’ cream with whipped cream and sprinkles; I get butter pecan with hot fudge.

I find us a table far enough from Wade and Jed so I can pretend that I don’t see them.

“Man, this is the stuff,” Rob says. “Mmm-hmmm.”

“Yup. Hot fudge. Nectar of the gods,” I agree. “So what was your favorite part of the movie?”

“Definitely the part where—”

He breaks off, eyes narrowing, his body suddenly tense and alert as he looks at something over my shoulder.

I turn around and see Wade and Jed standing by a kid who is cleaning and wiping down tables. He also happens to be Sikh, which I know because his hair is up in a topknot covered by a piece of cloth.

“Hey, raghead,” Jed says. “We don’t want terrorists around here. Go back to your own country.”

Wait, what? I know Jed can be a jerk, but I’m still completely surprised he’d say such an offensive thing.

Rob springs up to a standing position so quickly his chair falls over. Before I know what’s happening, he’s stalking toward Wade and Jed, who are jeering as the kid says, “Piss off.”

My heart starts beating faster, and I curse myself for suggesting frozen yogurt in the first place, because I know right now this isn’t going to end well.