I glanced back over at Sweat, and the lump poking against his shorts. I took in the rest of his body. His chest strong, like something you could break glass over. He had arms that looked like somebody drew them. His legs, sculptures falling off the couch. I wouldn’t forget this image for years; Sweat Buchanan was the first boy I ever had dreams about. My body warmed all of a sudden.

There was a long bar counter in the living room. It looked as if somebody would show up and ask me if I wanted a drink. The Buchanans had just as many bottles of alcohol as Food & Liquor. I hopped up on one of the stools and sat there, stealing glances at Sweat, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and catch me being a creep.

I could hear Jet in the back of the apartment trying to wake up Stacia. “Stace!” He whined. “Yo’ friend here for you,” he sang out, sounding more and more pitiful every time he repeated it. The electric hum of the refrigerator and Sweat’s breath coming out in gusts every once in a while served as music to his lyrics. Jet’s pleas started waking up the rest of the house. Moon’s feet swept the floor, and she came down the hallway, adding to the song. As she got closer to the living room, I started to panic, feeling guilty for sitting in her brother’s bedroom and looking at his body like that.

“Hey, Fe Fe,” she said, her voice raspy because she’d just gotten up.

I said, “Hey,” in a smaller voice, trying my best not to wake Sweat.

She went in the bathroom and locked the door. I heard someone else coming down the hall, the steps too heavy to be another small kid. It was Gail, Stacia’s mama. I could hear her thumb skipping on a lighter, and then it stopped, and so did her footsteps. She didn’t see me right away and went straight toward the bathroom. Banging on the door, she said, with a cigarette pinched between the edge of her lips, “Hurry the hell up! Gotta shit.” She stood there, out of my line of sight.

Jet ran by her and burst into the living room with an update. “She won’t get up.”

“Okay,” I said, breaking my neck to leave. I was really scared of Stacia’s mama, convinced she knew I was watching her son sleep. I hadn’t ever been this close to Gail. She was this massive woman, the originator of the Buchanan face and head. She seemed to always be upset about something. I found out, though, that her smile didn’t inspire warmth either.