Sure enough, Chris was up like a rocket. He barreled toward Oliver, pinning him to the wall. Oliver let out a loud oomph.

We are not sharing, Chris hissed through his teeth. Im thirteen years old, Im not sharing a room with a BABY!

Im not a baby, Oliver muttered. Im eleven.

Chris sneered. Exactly. A pipsqueak. So you go down and tell Mom and Dad that you dont want to share.

Tell them yourself, Oliver grumbled. Since youre the one with the problem.

Chriss scowl grew deeper. And tarnish my reputation as the favorite son? No way. You do it.

Oliver knew better than to provoke Chris any further. His brother could fly into rages over the smallest of things. Over the years of having the bad luck to be Chris Blues younger brother, Oliver had learned how to tread carefully, how to tiptoe around his brothers moods. He tried reasoning with him.

Theres nowhere else to sleep, he countered. Where am I supposed to go?

Not my problem, Chris replied, giving Oliver an extra shove. Sleep in the kitchen cupboard under the sink with the mice for all I care. But youre not sharing with me.

He waved his fist in the air, a threat that needed no explanation. There was nothing else to say. With a resigned sigh, Oliver collected himself from the wall, smoothed down his rumpled clothes, and trudged down the staircase.

His huge brother thundered down the steps after him, shoving him with an elbow as he went.

Oliver said he wont share, Chris bellowed on his way past.

From the living room, Oliver heard Mom, Dad, and Chris begin to argue over the sleeping arrangements. He slowed his pace, less than eager to become embroiled in the fight.

Recently, Oliver had gained a new coping strategy for when the arguments erupted, and it involved sending his mind to a different place, a sort of dreamworld where everything was calm and safe, where the only boundary was his imagination. He went there now, closing his eyes and picturing himself in a huge brick factory surrounded by incredible inventions. Flying dragons made of brass and copper, huge steaming machines with turning cogs. Oliver loved inventions, so a big factory filled with magical ones was exactly the kind of place he wished he could be, rather than here, in this awful house with his awful family.

Suddenly, his mothers shrill voice brought him back to the real world.

Oliver! Whats all this fuss youre causing?

Oliver swallowed hard and took the final step. By the time he reached the living room, the three of them were gathered, arms crossed, matching scowls on their faces.

You know there are only two rooms, Dad began.

And youre causing a stink, saying you wont share, Mom added.

What are we supposed to do? Dad continued. We dont have the money for you both to have a bedroom.