HAPPY THANKSGIVING! COME on in and grab a seat—if you can find one. Our apartment is about as crowded as the National Mall on the Fourth of July. Mad packed from wall to wall. Maybe it just feels that way because we’ve never had this many people over. It’s all good, though.

Mrs. Clark and her family are here. My aunt Nina, too, and my other aunt Sarah and my uncle Carl, and their three little kids. Also, Dr. Yetty and her husband. Who knew she was married? Lucky, lucky man. Who knows, maybe I’ll marry a lady as smart and pretty someday.

Preemie and her mom are right over there. They live in a shelter, so G-ma said they should come along. I invited Arthur, too, because his dad has to work at the restaurant today.

And Ray-Ray’s here, of course. Where else is he going to be? See, he lives with us now. G-ma’s still working out some of the details, but the social worker said we could keep it this way for the time being. He’s officially unofficially a part of the family now.

One day, just out of the blue, we received a collect phone call from the DC Department of Corrections. It was Nicky. I don’t know how he found our phone number, but hey, it is Nicky Powell. The brotha is pretty resourceful.

“It’s Nicky, Ray-Ray!” I shouted, and he hopped over the couch in the living room and snatched the phone. They spoke for a good fifteen minutes. Ray-Ray told me Nicky may be out within a year or so. They talk once a week. I don’t know how things will change once Nicky gets out. We’ll handle that when the time comes.

For now, Ray-Ray has to live by G-ma’s rules, same as me. Which is almost funny. He’s reading every day, like it or not—mostly not. But he’s also seriously getting into my comic collection.

I even told him about Stainlezz Steel. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. And get this—he says if I can be Stainlezz Steel in my mind, then he can be someone, too. He says his superhero is called—get this—A Brotha Named Zeus.

I ask him, “Do you mean just Zeus?”

He says, “No, bamma. You gotta say the whole thing. A Brotha Named Zeus. There could be all kinda Zeuses out there in the universe, you understand? But I am”—he points at me and we say it together—“A Brotha Named Zeus!” He says that’s the name he picked, and he’s sticking with it. Who am I to argue? He could call himself Tito Jackson for all I care.

Besides, I have “young man of the house” business to tend to. It’s just about time to carve the turkey, and you know how much Ray-Ray eats. If I don’t get to that table on time, I’ll be lucky to get anything at all. He’ll smash all the collard greens, G-ma’s famous homemade dressing, her amazing sweet potato pie, and my favorite, the fruit salad.