Vortex

  I wake up with Klev’s damn foot in my face.

  I shove it off, and it flops onto my chest instead. "Brudda, move," I growl, shovin’ him harder. He groans, rolling over, but his elbow jabs into my ribs now.

  "Five more minutes," he mutters.

  I sit up, feelin’ the stiffness in my back from sleeping half-curled on the edge of the bed. Not my bed. His bed. My bed don’t even exist no more, 'cause Klev took the whole damn space.

  I look around the room—our room. Every corner packed with Klev’s junk. Wood carvin’s, clothes, books he never reads. And I got what? A drawer. One drawer.

  I kick his mattress. "You takin’ up too much damn space, Klev. Move ya stuff."

  He grunts, shovin’ his face into the pillow. "Not my fault you don’t have hobbies, Vortex."

  I snatch the pillow from under his head, and he snaps up like a fish outta water. "Oi!"

  "You a hoarder, man!" I jab my finger at the mess. "Everywhere I look, it’s Klev’s stuff. I ain’t got room to breathe!"

  "You don’t need room!" He shoves me back, rubbin’ his eyes. "You’re just mad because you’ve got nothing to put anywhere!"

  "That ain't true!"

  "Then where’s all your stuff?"

  I open my mouth, but nothin’ comes out. I got nothin’ to show him. Just clothes and my dog tags. Ain't nothin' worth keepin'.

  Klev smirks, stretchin’ like he won somethin’. "Thought so."

  That smirk piss me off real bad. "Man, I swear, if you wasn’t my best friend—"

  "But I am," he says, yawnin’. "So what are you gonna do? Cry?"

  I lunge at him, grabbin’ his shirt, and yank. He yelps as he topples, arms filin’, and we hit the floor with a THUD. His elbow smacks my jaw—accident, probably—but I ain't gonna let it slide. I tackle him, drivin’ my shoulder into his ribs. We roll, knockin’ over his stack of wooden carvings.

  "Oi! Watch it!"

  "Then move your damn junk!"

  "Not happening, brat!"

  We grapple, rollin’ into the dresser with a loud BANG. Then the door sms open.

  Cherry.

  "You two wanna expin why I woke up to a warzone?"

  I freeze—Klev does too. Cherry stands in the doorway, arms crossed, hair messy, lookin’ about one sec away from kickin’ both our asses.

  I let go of Klev’s shirt. He lets go of my colr. We sit there like two kids caught robbin’ a cookie jar.

  Cherry sighs, rubbin’ her temple. "Klev, why does the room look like a museum exploded?"

  "Not my fault!" Klev points at me. "Vortex has no hobbies!"

  Cherry turns to me. "And why are you fighting at six in the morning?"

  "Man got too much stuff," I grumble, brushin’ dust off my shorts.

  Cherry looks at Klev. "Start cleaning."

  "But—"

  "Now."

  Klev grumbles but starts pickin’ up his carvings. I smirk, but then Cherry gres at me.

  "You help too."

  "What? Why?!"

  "Because if I hear one more dumbass fight, you’re both sleeping outside. With the squirrels. And I won’t let you back in.”

  I groan, but Cherry ain't someone you argue with.

  As Klev and I start cleanin’, he nudges me. "Still mad?"

  I shake my head. "Nah."

  He grins. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stopping my collection."

  I shove him. He shoves me back.

  Then I say it.

  “I’ll find my own pce, man. Just wait.”

  I expect him to throw some smartass comment, but he don’t. He just keeps pickin’ up his carvings, quiet.

  I know why.

  He ain’t happy. But this ain’t about him.

  This ‘bout me. ‘Bout me gettin’ outta here.