With the two main adults in my life batting life lessons at me for each other’s benefit, it’s time to derail this nonsense. “Are you hitting on my mom?”

Ahrion’s engines go silent.

“Thelonius!” Moms yells.

“You are, aren’t you? I ain’t going to just sit here and let him push up on you. Talking about how much he cares, like he’s trying to be my dad or something.” I admit, this would be the corniest flirting I’d ever seen.

“Is that what you think?” Without fluttering an eyelid, not seeming flustered in anyway, Mr. Blackmon swigs more water. He just looks at me—through me—in a, I don’t know, paternal way.

Ahrion smashes cars into each other. Lego pieces fly everywhere. Ahrion giggles as she begins rebuilding them.

Crossing my arms, I lean away. There are times when a dull ache pains my belly from missing my dad. After school or on a Saturday afternoon, the back of my mind itches like there’s something I forgot or was supposed to be doing. Throwing a football with someone. Playing video games with someone. Having someone to show me stuff. I imagine it’s similar to, like, having an arm missing: it may have felt real all the same, but the pain was in my head.

“I still think you need a pet or something.” Mumbling, I shift toward the window.

“Fair enough.” Mr. Blackmon smiles. The eight o’clock bell rings. Ahrion jumps. “Want to give me and your mom a minute to go over your work to date? I promise I won’t hit on her.”

I study Mr. Blackmon carefully with something shy of a stare down. Before I escape, Moms tugs at my arm to bend me low to kiss me. I wipe it off but smile. Nehemiah and Twon walk in together, trailed by Rodrigo, who nips at their heels with constant chatter. I step away from Mr. Blackmon’s corner to join them by the cubbies.

“What’s that about?” Nehemiah glances back at Moms.

“Surprise parent-teacher conference,” I say.

“You in trouble?”

“Always.”

Nehemiah waits for Twon and Rodrigo to wander to their desks. “I saw Jaron. Told him we wanted to get with him at recess.”

“Good. Maybe we’ll finally get to the bottom of things.”

We are the brotherhood of the flinch.

One way or another, we carry that fear with us. Every one of us. You can see it in the eyes of folks when you walk the school hallways. Always on guard. Always on the lookout. Never knowing where the next hit might come from. Never knowing who might roll up on you. We live in a state of shock, being worn out from always having to be on guard 24/7. We live with that sense of resigned relief when the punch finally lands and we think “at least now it’s over” until the cycle starts all over again. Sometimes it’s playful. Nehemiah wants to make me jump, and I have to live with never knowing when I am going to get caught slipping. There are other times, though, like the way Nehemiah flinches at his mother’s touch. Tiny, almost imperceptible, it would have been easily missed, but I saw it.