Inertia crept up Apollo’s body with a surprising grace. The garage door was opening at 2:12 p.m. on a weekday, and he had not just one but three members of the opposite sex seated at his dining room table. The bike in the driveway could be lied away; the girls weren’t as easily dismissed. Apollo’s eyes remained in motion, considering closets, stairs, doors, pathways. The basement and his room were obvious hideouts. But were they too obvious? Was he being watched? Was he being robbed?

Focus. If they took the back door, they risked being seen scaling the backyard fence, which was visible from the kitchen window. If they took the front door, they might run into a parent at the mailbox. If they hid in the house, they might be trapped. Was that worse or better? Girls discovered in the basement sounded morbid; girls discovered in his bedroom sounded sordid. Would he even have a bedroom after that kitchen door opened?

“Apollo, I thought your parents worked until six,” Sol said, breaking Apollo’s trance.

“They do, normally,” he said, rising from the table. He wasn’t even sure if it was his mother or his father.

“Well, today isn’t looking too normal,” Sol sneered. “I hope you don’t expect us to run out the back door like a pack of hoodrats.”

“Hoodrats don’t move in packs,” Kai said, grabbing Zed and Sol’s arms. “The scientific name for a pack of hoodrats is a step team.”

Unsure whether to laugh or commit ritual suicide, Apollo stayed seated. It was easier to think while sitting down.

The kitchen door swung open as Apollo’s father entered with shopping bags.

“Ohhh, playa playa,” his father said with a wide grin, his voice booming over the air conditioning, the closing garage door, and his own thunderous footsteps. A shoulder nudge swung the kitchen door shut, and within seconds, he had decamped to the master bedroom, not even stopping to greet their guests. His presence hung in the air, though, his cologne thick and musky, his silence filling the vacuum. Apollo felt dazed.

Sol spoke. “Bruh, your dad is African as fuck,” she said.

“What do you know about Africans?” asked Zed.

“Enough to get a good tip,” Sol said with a snicker.

The snicker snowballed into a deep, fulfilling laugh that rumbled through the room, dropping shoulders, slackening jaws, loosening backs. Apollo felt pure joy tickle its way up his stomach and into his throat, escaping into the air only to respawn in his stomach moments later. Zed pounded the table, Kai cupped her mouth, Sol rolled on the floor.

Apollo recovered first, glancing at the clock. 2:16. Why couldn’t an entire day feel like the past four minutes?