He didn’t see her standing there. He never saw her. Since they were young, she could do this to him; to her other brother, Ugonna; to her father. She never crept up on her mother. Something in her, even when she was three years old, told her never to do that.

Sunny rolled her eyes. This was her oldest brother. Reeking of cologne. Wearing the finest clothes. His hair shaved close and perfect. Seventeen years, soon to be eighteen, and already adept at juggling four girlfriends he’d leave behind in less than a week. Going on five if he could convince the one he was texting to go out with him this weekend. Sunny read as his fingers flew over the touch screen.

Just try me, he typed. U kno u interested, cuz u kno I show you a gud time.

Sunny was glad that she’d never gotten that into texting. Look how it stupid it made you sound! Plus, she didn’t need it. She only used her cell phone to call her parents to let them know where she was. When you knew juju, a lot of technology seemed primitive.

“Are you serious?” she finally said, when she couldn’t stand watching him make an ass of himself any longer.

He screeched and jolted, dropping his cell phone on his lap. Then he glared at Sunny. “Shit! What is wrong with you?”

Sunny giggled.

“I hate when you do that!”

On his lap, his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “This is private. Go cook dinner or something. I’m hungry. Make yourself useful.”

“Don’t you have enough girlfriends?”

He flashed a toothy grin, quickly texting the girl back. “It’s just so easy. I can’t help myself.”

“Stupid,” Sunny muttered, walking toward the house.

“Where are you coming from all sweaty like that?” he asked her, looking up.

She’d been playing soccer with the boys. Chukwu’s soccer group was older, so he had no idea she was playing now. If he did, Sunny didn’t know how she’d explain. Really, she had more to worry about with Ugonna, who was sixteen. Sometimes her age mates played with the boys from his age group. Thankfully, he wasn’t that interested in soccer. Thus, so far, so good.

“None of your business,” she said over her shoulder, quickly going inside.

Her parents wouldn’t be home for a few hours. Her mother was on call and had sent a text to all of them describing what they could eat. And their father always came home late on Thursdays. Ugonna was at the kitchen table nibbling on an orange. He had a pencil in his hand. He was drawing again. Sunny considered leaving the kitchen, but she was hungry.

Ugonna had always liked to draw; he’d sketch things like smiling faces and vague images of girls, trees, cars he liked, and gym shoes. But in the last year, after discovering an instruction website on the Internet, he’d gotten more serious with his skill. Instead of going out with his friends, he began to spend more and more time at the kitchen table, drawing. He was best at drawing faces and abstract images of forests.