I shudder, not because of the wind that blows through the space but because of the memory of a certain open cabinet in our basement. My mother’s gun cabinet. Untouched until a few days ago, when I raided it for the weapon I took to kill Bandit. Archie must’ve grabbed its twin earlier this evening, before he left for prom. I always knew my brother and I were more similar than different. I just wish I didn’t have additional proof right at this moment.

“What are you doing, Arch?” I ask, my voice low and soothing so I don’t scare him. So I don’t cause his finger to inadvertently jerk. “Put away the gun.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.” He raises the weapon to shoulder height and advances a few steps toward the clump of trees, his tuxedo shoes scuffing across the blacktop. “It’s your fault I’m the laughingstock of the school.”

His voice crescendos. His hand trembles. Both are so violent, I don’t know if the gun will drop or go off. “You promised, Alice. You promised you would go with me to the tux shop. But you didn’t. You forgot all about me. Because you were with him!”

I lick my lips. I’ve never seen him like this. So angry, nearly irrational. He bears much closer resemblance to the Archie in the holo-screen than the brother I know and love. “You don’t understand. There were extenuating circumstances—”

“No, you don’t understand!” he rages. His skin is pale, almost translucent, in the first pearly beams of the moon. “You have no idea how it feels to be me. The last one picked in every gym class. The guy who forever has an empty seat next to him in the cafeteria, on the school bus. I only have you, and you let me down.”

“I’m sorry—”

But he doesn’t let me finish. “Show yourself, Bandit!” my brother roars. “If you want to date my sister, at least have the guts to come out and face me.”

A moment passes. I don’t hear the screech of the crickets anymore, so either they’ve gone into hiding or my ears are too full of my thunderous heartbeat.

Bandit steps out from behind the clump of trees. He’s holding a gun, too, and it’s trained on Archie. Flaming monkeys. He must’ve dug up my gun, the one he buried in the woods.

My mind flits hysterically to the angles and filter I would use to best capture this shot. Bandit’s arm is rock solid, his eyes watchful. The way he’s framed by the dusk and shadows, he could be a work of art. The scene is oddly picturesque…and very, very wrong.

My brother tightens the grip on his own weapon. “Put it down, Bandit.”