THE APARTMENT DOOR OPENS, LIKE HE knows I’m there.
“Heya, Maxie.”
“Wil.”
He spells it with one L, he told me, because he’s Wilbur. Not William or something usual. What kind of name is Wilbur for a skinny old city brother, I want to know, but these are things I don’t bring up.
He pulls a folded buck out his pocket, shows it to me. “Going for smokes.”
“Right on.” I step aside, all smooth and easy, hoping he’ll take the hint. I’ll stay out of your way, you stay the hell out of mine.
He nods, one of those chin-raising what-up kind of deals, and moves on down the hall. So far I don’t have a problem with Wil. He’s my kind of conversationalist.
Ma’s inside, all laid out on the couch, trying to play like it’s the longest day of her life come to the resting place.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Been where I been.” I glide past her, right on into my bedroom. Looking like that, she’s not about to follow.
I wake to the sound of Raheem grunting out push-ups on the floor of our room. The curtain is pushed back. Morning light pours in on him, planked out and pumping himself up and down.
“Gross,” I say. “You sound like a diseased rhinoceros.”
He tips his head up far enough to glare at me. “Girls like pecs.”
I snort loudly.
“Now who sounds like wildlife?” he huffs, breathing out the words to the rhythm of his arms.
“Who do you like, anyway?” I try to think if I’ve seen him getting all mushy on anyone lately.
“Shut up,” he grunts.
I stretch out my legs and try to kick him over, but he’s pretty well balanced. “You know I’m going to find out. And then I’m going to tell her all about your workout noises.”
“Stop it.” He shrugs off my pokes, comes up onto his knees. Then he flips onto his back. Sit-ups.
I come all the way out of bed. “I could stand on your belly. Make it more of a challenge. Girls like abs, too.”
My foot dangles over his middle. Raheem grabs my ankle and tugs, making me lose my balance and hop around. “Heem. Heem!” I squeal. He gives me a tiny shove and I flop back onto my mattress.
“That’ll teach you to mess with a man and his muscles,” Raheem mutters, crunching.
“Don’t see no man, don’t see no muscles,” I quip as I skip out the door to pee.
In the living room Mama has her head out the window. “It’s hot out,” she says. “Short sleeves, breezy skirt kind of hot.”
“That’s weird.”
I slip into the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth.
On my way back through, Mama’s in the kitchen eating cereal from the box. Says, “Your brother giving you a hard time? Sounds like you fighting in there.”
“Nah.”
But back in our room, Raheem is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking mopey.
“She turn you down already?” I joke. “That’s fast work.”
He looks up at me with this face I don’t know what to make of. “What?” I ask. “What happened?”
“Why did you say that before?”
He squeezes the mattress. “That thing about me not being a man. That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“You pushed me on the bed.”
“I’m a man,” he says. “The only man around here. I take care of things.”
“I know.” He has to get that I was only joking. We do that. We joke.
“Maxie.”
Then again, everyone’s always telling me how I overrun my mouth. “Come on, you know how I say stuff.”
“Yeah. You really gotta stop that.”
I shrug. I would if I could help it. Brain. Mouth. There’s a superhighway in between. No red lights, no roadblocks.