Every afternoon, a thirteen-year-old waits eagerly in his bedroom. This boy, whose name was Dakota, does his homework as he should, and waits for the front door to slam, signaling his older brother's arrival home.
"Andy?" Dakota calls hopefully, part of him knowing that he is the only reason Andrew returns to this hole daily; if not for Dakota, Andrew would spend all his days laughing and talking with his friends at Michael Lancaster's house.
"Hey, 'Kota," Andrew responds. Dakota can hear the smile in his voice, the one that fades as soon as the oldest Sanders child notices their stepfather's empty booze bottles on the coffee table. Dakota mourns its passing, but only briefly, because Andrew pokes his head in the door and grins at the sight of his little brother, who flashes him a blue-eyed smile of adoration in return.
Every day, Andrew retreats to his own bedroom, homework completed at Michael's house, and sings along to his stereo as quietly as he can. He, an intelligent boy of fifteen, knows that loud noises from his bedroom will only result in a smack upside the head and ten minutes of being screamed at. Dakota sits close to the wall their bedrooms share, straining his ears for the melody Andrew murmurs, sometimes falling asleep there. He somehow wakes up in his bed the mornings after.
But, oh, when their stepfather is gone, Andrew sings. He sings loud and long, playing his guitar in accompaniment. Dakota can hear him without pressing his ear to the wall. In fact, Andrew has no qualms about Dakota coming in and listening, or maybe singing a few lines himself before getting embarrassed and letting Andrew take the melody again. This lasts until a slamming door announces the drunken return of their stepfather. The brothers lock the bedroom door and talk into the night.
Dakota loves those nights.
One day, Andrew comes home early, right after school. There was no time to even stop at a friend's house. He simply comes straight home.
"Andy?" Dakota calls.
"Yeah."
The monosyllabic response echoes through the otherwise silent house.
Dakota doesn't hear Andrew's boots on the staircase. Instead, he hears Andrew collapse on the couch. Worried, he runs down to his older brother, who is curled into a ball on the couch. His face looks tight. Dakota knows that expression - his brother is holding back tears.
"Andrew, what's wrong?" Andrew fakes a smile.
"Nothing," he murmurs. "Roy stopped giving a shit today."
"What?"
"Michael stopped talking to me two months ago. Roy hasn't spoken to me in a week." Andrew swallows hard, and his voice cracks. "I understand. Roy's got his karate friends. Michael's got his boyfriend." He clenches his fist angrily, and Dakota has never seen his brother look more broken. "So much more interesting than me. But you'd think... you think ten fucking years..." Andrew chokes up.
"I'm so sorry," Dakota whispers.
"It's alright. It's not your fault. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Andrew pulls himself together and stands. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.
And, beginning that night,
Andrew stops singing.
Andrew has the widest, goofiest smile Dakota has ever seen. It endures the abuse and the pain and somehow manages to find a way to shine at Dakota every afternoon. Even then, it fades quickly, vanishing almost as soon as Andrew turns from the doorway.
Dakota misses the days when Andrew constantly had a smile on his face. Once, he decides angrily the absence of it was due to Roy and Michael's absense.
