I should storm into the living room and confront my father for kicking Connor out and convince him he’s been a dick.

I should convince Connor to…I don’t know what. Move home? Not like that’s going to happen. And really, I can’t blame him, even though I want to.

I should grab my guitar and learn the melody line to “New Year’s Day,” even though the really cool stuff is in the bass part.

I’m jittery. All nervous energy and potential.

Someone plays a sax on the street and the sound floats over the hum of the city and swaggers through our windows, even though they’re closed. My fingers dance to the rhythm. I need to be out. Out. OUT.

I’d like to know where you’re getting all this money to throw away, my father says.

He’s standing in front of the apartment door, blocking my way, and I can feel my mouth go dry.

I still have a little money from Christmas, I answer honestly, taking into account the money I gave to Connor. But seriously, it’s just the price of a subway token and a Coke.

Dad narrows his eyes in a way that makes me feel totally naked, and I wish I could punch something. I look down, glad I’ve played it safe in dark jeans and a white shirt. Then, remembering, I shake my head slightly, hoping my hair will cover my ear cuff. I’ve got eyeliner hidden in my jacket pocket, and I’m not stupid enough to put it on until I’m at the club. I wish it didn’t feel like Dad could see through the fabric.

I know from experience this standoff will go one of two ways. Either he’s in the mood for a fight, in which case I’m screwed. Or he’s trying to rattle me, in which case I just need to wait him out.

Maybe you should spend that money on a haircut, he says. You’re beginning to look like a fucking girl.

I bite my tongue. Literally. And wait silently. A cop car screams down the street, and our upstairs neighbor must be getting ready to go out too, because I can hear her high heels clack against her wood floors.

Finally, my father sighs, Get out of here already. And don’t let me see you coming in past curfew, do you hear me?

Connor would have said: Of course I can hear you; the whole Upper West Side can hear you.

But I know when to keep quiet.

This is only one of the things that makes me smarter than my brother.

The Echo is packed. Sometimes it gets like this. Random people called to the same pulsing beat at exactly the same time. Sometimes I mind. Tonight, I don’t. Tonight, I need this mad crush of people and noise.

I dance until I can’t walk. Sweat runs down my back. My legs start to ache. My anxiety hunkers down like a dog sleeping in the corner.

I’ve almost made it to that place where nothing matters.