“ISN’T this game too white for you?” Theo asked sarcastically. Since they’d arrived back at Grandma Esther’s house, everything Theo had said to Gavin was snide. He knew he was acting childishly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. There was a gnawing in his stomach that only sarcasm seemed to soothe.

Gavin laughed. “Only color I’m interested in right now is red. As in blood.” They were playing Call of Duty in Gavin’s room. The room was a mess, with dumbbells scattered in one corner, a desk buried under comic books and dirty clothes in another, the TV and video games in a third, and his piano keyboard and computer in the fourth. The keyboard and computer were where Gavin supposedly wrote his music. For years he had been telling everyone what a major hip-hop star he was going to be one day, only he never let anyone hear any of his songs.

Theo had considered sulking by himself, but his dad would soon have pulled him into the kitchen to look at photo albums, mostly filled with faded Polaroids of his grandmother in low-cut, slinky outfits from back when she was a popular blues and jazz singer (she’d actually made a few albums). People always expected his grandma to look like some short, chubby version of Madea, in a flowery housedress and apron, always laughing and calling people “folks” or “child” (“You folks jes set yoselves down. Ain’t that right, child?”).

But Grandma was slim, dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, and had thick black-and-gray dreadlocks that hung to her butt. She divided her days between visiting her old musician friends and participating in her various political activities. Back in the sixties, she’d been involved in some radical protests. Now she just wanted to make sure everybody got a chance to vote. Theo had heard all the stories, seen all the yellowish photos, heard Grandma’s political speeches. He’d rather shoot zombie Nazis, even if it was with Gavin.

He looked at the clock. He just had to endure Gavin for another hour and then they’d be heading back to Orange County.

“You suck at this,” Gavin said as he mowed down half a dozen soldiers. His score was twice Theo’s.

“When’s your mom coming back?” Theo asked. He was sorry the moment he heard his own words. He already knew the answer, but he just wanted to rub it in, hurt Gavin a little.

“Six weeks,” Gavin said without any emotion.

Gavin’s mom had caught the whole political activist bug from Grandma. She married some guy who was a big shot in the Peace Corps. But a year after Gavin was born, her husband took off to do some rescue work in Thailand after a hurricane. He never came back. He didn’t die, he just preferred going from disaster area to disaster area rather than raising his son. He still sent e-mails from all over the world. Theo didn’t know whether Gavin ever responded. They never talked about him.

His mom was in Kenya, installing “smart” hand pumps in villages. She’d explained the project to Theo once. “Millions of people in Africa get all their water from hand pumps—you know, the kind you see in westerns when the cowboy rides up to the farm and asks if he can have some water, then sticks his head under the faucet and starts pumping. The problem is that they break down a lot. About a third of the pumps are broken at any given time,” she’d said. “My company invented a mobile data transmitter that gets implanted into the pump handle. When the pump doesn’t work, it sends a text message, and we go and fix the pump.”

Theo admired Aunt Talia. She was actually doing something to make the world better. Not just talking about fame and fortune, like her son, Gavin.

Gavin suddenly broke the silence. “This is her last trip. She said she misses me too much and she doesn’t want to turn into my dad. We Skype a lot.”

“That’s good,” Theo said, suddenly feeling bad for Gavin. Not to mention himself. At least Gavin’s mom would be coming home eventually. Theo wouldn’t be so lucky.

As if sensing Theo’s change of mood, Gavin spun and glared at him. “None of this matters anyway. When my songs catch on, I’m going to be outta here, living in some big white mansion in Beverly Hills. Maybe I’ll let you come visit, take a dip in my pool with all the hot chicks. Swimming suit optional.” He laughed as nastily as he could.

“Yeah, right,” Theo said. “Your ‘music.’” He said “music” like he was saying “unicorn.”

“Got some tight tunes, son. You’ll see.”

“If your songs are so tight, why not play some for me right now? Go ahead. Right now.”

Gavin’s chest swelled with anger, and Theo wondered if he was going to punch him. Theo hoped not, because those arms were massive. And he was already sore from the beating he had taken playing basketball with Gavin’s friends.

Gavin turned back to the game and rebooted it. He played silently by himself while Theo watched the clock for his dad to come take him away.