They immediately headed up the spiral staircase, proceeding past chronologically arranged family portraits and award certificates. Apollo always marveled at the strange sequence. In just fourteen steps, he would see Zed and Tim grow up and Mr. and Mrs. Pang’s restaurant become more successful. His dad always made family seem like such a burden, but Zed’s parents presented family as fundamental to success. Even the drunken cousin who Mr. Pang regularly scolded at barbecues was featured on the wall. Everybody got acknowledged.

Apollo walked past Zed’s room and entered the bathroom, humming to himself as he dutifully scrubbed black paint from his large palms. He entered Zed’s room to find her rifling through her dresser, looking back and forth between her phone and unfolded clothes.

“I can’t believe I used to wear this shit,” she said, shaking her head and holding up a fishnetted black blouse studded with dull spikes. “It looks like a level from Twisted Metal.” She didn’t even smile at the comparison, she was that disgusted. Apollo chuckled as she flung the shirt over her head. Her goth days were an endless source of self-shame—and humor.

“I wish Theo didn’t send emails from his phone. It always cuts out the previous message for some reason. I think this is everything, though,” Zed said, gesturing toward a pile on the ground. Apollo could barely discern individual articles of clothing. He just saw a mass of black. She really was committed to this grown woman shit. “Let’s go to your house and get your stuff,” Zed said.

Apollo winced. He knew that no one was home, but he was convinced that his mom could smell when he’d been around a girl. Even when he wore the sensory bludgeon known as AXE body spray, his mom could quickly parse through the overpowering fragrance and find a faint trace of lavender body wash or cherry lip gloss that had rubbed off on him. He didn’t want to risk it.

His dad hadn’t quite told him to get a new girlfriend when he saw his and Zed’s prom pictures, but it was implied. “You need to be serious,” he’d said. “Be serious” was a phrase that his dad tended to use whenever Apollo expressed interest in something that wasn’t explicitly Nigerian. Apollo had never been given a definition, but he knew what it meant. Video games weren’t serious. Building computers wasn’t serious. Skateboarding wasn’t serious—unless the X Games were on; his dad loved other people on skateboards. Cambodian girlfriends definitely weren’t serious.

“Now’s not a good time. My bathroom’s dirty…”

“Okay,” Zed said, interrupting him. “I’ll meet you at Kai’s house.” She didn’t press like she usually did, but he could tell she was upset. She’d get over it, though. She always did.

She embraced him and led him down the stairs, stopping on the second step from the bottom to kiss him at eye level, a feat that was impossible at their normal heights. “We’re here for you, Apollo,” she said as he stepped outside. Apollo turned and smiled, her family smiling back at him, their faces encased in the distant hope of 1997.