Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,17

hair; his fine musculature, as precise as anime line art. He wore a short-fringe suede jacket and necklace of opal and turquoise and silver. Evidence of some sort of neo-country rock outfit, perhaps.

Seeing Gray suddenly before me after months of absence made me probe my own jawline (which was round) and my own musculature (which was largely missing) with dissatisfaction.

Gray sighed through gritted teeth. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sun, do me a favor and save it.”

Gray could have no idea what I was thinking, which was Did I leave any of my stuff in his room? Did I leave any of his stuff lying out suspiciously? I stifled the urge to glance up the staircase. Instead I looked down and noticed two big duffel bags and a guitar bag.

“Are you . . . back?” I ventured.

Gray thumped a fist on the soft couch arm. “I’m here with all my worldly possessions late on a friggin’ Tuesday night. Think, Sun.”

“Gray,” said Mom. “Be gentle with your brother.”

Mom had been telling me and Gray to be gentle ever since we were little.

I rubbed my arm as if he’d just punched it. “Nice to see you, too, jeez.”

Gray sneered—Fsss—and rose. He hoisted a duffel on each shoulder, then took his guitar.

“Going to bed,” he said.

But he didn’t head upstairs. He went downstairs instead, to some other room in the vast finished basement no one ever used. His footsteps faded into the big silence of the rest of the house.

I felt a cool wave of relief that quickly turned into puzzlement. Why didn’t he go upstairs to his room?

“What is going on?” I said after he was gone.

“His band broke up,” said Dad. Amazingly, he was still wearing his headset.

“Which one?” I said.

“There were multiple?” said Dad.

Mom took Dad’s tiny headset out of his ear, turned it off with a careful squeeze, and tossed it into a crystal candy dish. “His roommate hooked up with his other roommate,” she said. “Then they up and moved to Seattle. We told him he could stay here and regroup as he gets set up with his next band.”

For how long? I wanted to say.

“Gosh,” I said instead. Gray had just been through some disappointing nonsense, after all. (Still: Didn’t mean Gray had to snap at me like he did.)

“Had to happen sometime,” said Dad.

“Don’t ever say that to Gray,” said Mom.

“Roger that one hundred percent, dude,” said Dad. “All I’m saying is music is not exactly a super-duper stable source of income.”

“Music is a brutal business model,” said Mom.

“Absolutely,” said Dad.

“I am glad he’s back,” said Mom.

“Yap,” said Dad. “Me too.”

“Me too,” I did not say. I was already dreading future interactions with him.

Despite this, I found myself creeping alone downstairs after Mom and Dad went up to bed. I entered the basement, so pristine it still exuded new-carpet smell. I’m not sure why I did this. I think I wanted to spy on him. Catch clues about his new life. I felt like I knew so little about him now, and here he was.

I reached the bottom of the stairs. I peeked in. He sat in the billiard room on an ancient poo-colored lazy chair. He was playing some old video game with the volume up loud.

Reload!

Ten seconds!

You lose!

“Goddamn it,” said Gray. His eyes looked like someone else’s. They looked rabid.

He caught sight of me. His eyes did not soften or change. These were his eyes now.

“Hey,” I said, more out of surprise than greeting. I knit my fingers at my belly.

Gray glanced down. “You going through my old crap?” he chuffed.

His Goat of Satan ring. It was still on my finger.

“No,” I whined, suddenly thirteen years old again, the age when we grew irreversibly apart. I waited for Gray to start pummeling me with questions. What the hell were you doing in my room? What else have you gotten yourself into? Did you start dressing up as me to get some girl?

But Gray asked no such questions; Gray simply returned to his game. “Whatever. It’s all junk up there.”

I fumed. It wasn’t junk. It was important.

But if Gray didn’t think so, was it?

Gray played. He acted like I wasn’t there. For an absurd moment, I wished Gray would start interrogating me. I wished he would find out about my stupid mistake with Cirrus, and maybe even make fun of me, even if it made me feel awful.

Because all Gray did was ignore me, and that felt awful, too.

Gray glanced back with annoyance. At his little brother