Even though my stomach turns sour every time the thought of Johntae’s party enters my mind, I text Ivy and G-mo that the only reason I’m going is to play Spy on My Twin. None of us has an actual driver’s license, so we meet up at my place and pedal our way under the still, blue sky to some mystery location that Johntae sent Tyler in a text and my nuts get really sore and tender riding on my bike, the seat worn all the way down to the metal frame.

Two numb nuts and a handful of minutes later, I arrive with G-mo and Ivy to this brick warehouse–looking building that used to be a flea market. I believe they called it Pic-A-Rag or something. Yeah, that’s it. A trash market owned by an old friend of Mama’s that got closed down because of roaches and too many robberies. For the longest time, I thought this building was abandoned, never to be used again—or maybe a place for all the homeless people of Sterling Point to take up permanent residence. But it looks totally redone from the outside, and I can only imagine what the inside is like. I guess drug dealers can afford this kind of renovation.

The line to get in is strangely long, like all of Sojo Truth High School was invited and they just so happened to bring everybody and their mama. There’s a bouncer and a slew of security guards standing on both sides of the red carpet and cutoff line rope.

And I’m all like, “What kind of drug dealer gets security guards and a bouncer at a party?” More important, though, what kind of security guards and bouncers agree to work a drug dealer’s party—a drug dealer’s anything?

“Does it really matter?” G-mo says, slapping his dry hands together like he’s about to get some grub. He twists his marijuana-green hat, turning it backward to look more suave than he really is.

“Yeah, who cares? All I want is to find me a fine-ass honey,” Ivy says, her eyes all dolled up with gold eyeliner. She’s also wearing skinny disco pants—black ones, with a white tank top and a blue jean jacket. I’m in my Notorious B.I.G. hoodie and some black jeans. The three of us really could be our own pop group or something.

G-mo and Ivy shake up hands, like they’ve made a bro pact or something—that they both have to leave this party 1) with a girl and 2) without their virginity.

My fists clutch at my sides, and I find myself sighing a bit too loudly, looking around, and checking the long line over and over again, seeing it grow.

“What’s up with you?” Ivy says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You seem… tense.”

“Nothing,” G-mo answers for me. “He just desperately needs to get laid.” And he laughs at his own joke, like it’s the greatest thing ever, but even Ivy doesn’t laugh.

Out the corner of my eye, I see Tyler entering a side door with a couple other guys who belong to Johntae’s crew. The angst is all over my body now, like goose bumps. I remain fixed on him as the anxiety pinches at the back of my throat. I’m afraid to see something I don’t really want to see. I’m afraid of knowing the truth.

Images flash through my mind of the time I saw Tyler with Johntae, dealing in the middle of the day, at Sojo High. One image haunts me: Tyler ending up like Dad—in jail, just plucked from my life.

I’m stuck in this slippery gray area between grieving the absence of my dad and watching my brother slowly vanish before my eyes. My knuckles crack as I squeeze them together. I got to remind myself to lay low and keep an eye on Tyler.

“You worry about him a lot,” Ivy says.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I worry like hell.”

She rolls up her sleeves and puts both her hands on my arms, standing in front of me to block my view of the entrance. “Worrying is stupid—but, man, it shows you’ve got a big heart in your chest. Your brother’s lucky to have you, M. You always got his back.”

I smile, and she lets me go.

I look up at the sky, and something tells me that things just might be okay.

The inside is everything I expect it to be and more. We walk through a long hallway, like a tunnel, to get the main floor. Different-colored strobe lights line the ceiling. Loud music. People dancing—no, grinding on each other. The smell of sweat and lit weed weaving through the air.

There’s a girl walking toward me. She’s tall and showing her natural hair in an Afro. Her cheetah-print shirt, the matching bottoms, the glitter around her eyes. She’s fine as hell. When she’s closer, I see she’s wearing a necklace that spells out Faith.

She brushes up against me, giving me chills. And I’m just left staring at her, pressing every inch of her into my thoughts.

She winks at me, and I feel like I’m going to die of the world’s biggest, hardest erection, but I have to remind myself why I’m really here.

Not for girls. Not for girls.

I place my hands in front of my junk and watch as she passes by, the world feeling like it’s rotating slower and slower.

“My. Gay. God,” Ivy says, watching this girl in a shiny, sparkly dress flip her hair.

I catch G-mo turning his head to the side, scanning her up and down. I punch his arm and he tosses his hands in the air, like he’s surrendering.

Something makes me look behind me, and my eyes zoom into focus on a scene that completely kills all the fluttering feelings in my stomach.

And at the end of the hallway, Johntae has Tyler pinned to the wall. His crew members just watch, like they’re getting off on watching my brother’s pain. Tyler chokes, trying hard to catch his breath and push his weight off the wall.

I run toward them, screaming and hollering for him to let Tyler go. “Fucking let him go, I said!” My voice cracks as I yell, the veins in my head throbbing.

When Johntae catches sight of me, he releases Tyler at once. Gravity pulls Tyler’s body down hard to the floor, and he gasps heavily, taking in huge gulps of oxygen, his own hands wrapped tightly around his throat.

“What’s up, lil homie?” Johntae nods at me, like he didn’t just have my brother in a chokehold against the wall. He goes in to shake up with me, but I brush past him, bending down to check on Tyler.

“Tyler? Are you all right?”

He shakes his head fast and spits on the floor. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Get off me!” He rises from the floor, using the wall to keep his balance. A familiar emptiness and darkness in his eyes.

I step back some more. Tyler and Johntae stare at each other in silence, like they’re about to fight cowboy-style—like those old Western movies Mama used to watch, with the tumbleweeds rolling in the desert.

“I’m sick and tired of the games,” Johntae says to Tyler.

“What games?” Tyler says.

“You know what the fuck I mean. I put loyalty above everything. Don’t fuck with me again.”

I can tell my brother’s scared, that he’s nervous, but he’s pretending to be hard. “For the hundredth time,” Tyler says, biting his lip and clenching his fists, “it was not me, man. I ain’t a snitch.”

“Just know that you’re already in my hand. The only thing I haven’t done yet is close my fist.”

Tyler looks at me and then at Johntae and then walks away into the huge grinding crowd, everyone dancing to a song by Drake.

“Go on in and enjoy all this party has to offer you, lil homie,” Johntae says, blowing his blunted breath all over me, a huge grin stuck on his face, like he and I are estranged cousins.

I push past him, Ivy and G waiting nearby. We walk through the crowd, the three of us. All the people here are like goldfish swimming around in electrically charged water in a giant fishbowl, brushing up against one another with each move as the song switches to some new track by A$AP Rocky.

Tyler is nowhere to be found.

I push through a few sweaty bodies. The floor has a long green carpet littered with ash, empty alcohol bottles, and red Solo cups. There’re screams echoing toward us, coming from the back. It kind of feels like a mini earthquake within these weed-tainted walls, people’s feet shuffling and sneakers squeaking. My stomach flips over and over, and it gets so loud.

I freeze in place, trying to find my way through the stampede of people running toward me. The strobe lights are cut, everything goes dark, and then the emergency lights and sirens blare to life.

Ivy grabs my arm. G-mo grabs on to her. We try to stay together.

And then gunshots are fired.

Pow! Pow! Pop!

Screaming. Screaming. SCREAMING. Man, what the fuck is happening?

I grab for Ivy’s hand and pull her to my side, pressing our bodies down as we duck and crawl to safety. A few more shots ring out, and my instinct is to freak the fuck out. I shouldn’t have come here.

Everything spins and blurs, and it feels like I’m going to faint as people run past me toward the exit doors, screaming.

“I gotta make sure Tyler is okay,” I shout over all the screams.

Ivy and G-mo yell at me not to go, but I have to make sure he’s okay. I squeeze through many sweaty bodies, tripping over debris, ducking and hoping I’m not in the way of bullets. My heart is about to give out and I can’t breathe. I don’t see him. I don’t see him anywhere. I turn around to head back to Ivy and G-mo so we can get the hell out of this place, thinking, Maybe Tyler got out safely. Maybe he’s already outside.

Pow! Pop! This is what I hear. Then, a crash.

Pow! Pop!

The battlefield that was once inside me upon stepping into this place is actually becoming real. I run and shield myself behind a fallen table. In my head, I’m imagining I’m six all over again, hearing my first drive-by.

I crawl away from the dance floor. When I get to safety, G-mo and Ivy are there to help me up. We get outside. I gasp for fresh air, searching the crowd for Tyler.

I don’t see him anywhere. Shit, Tyler, where are you?

The loud sirens of police and then more screaming and rounds of bullets block my thoughts. And we run to our bikes, cutting through the back woods to get to my place.

At home, Tyler is nowhere to be found. G-mo, Ivy, and I check the kitchen, the living room, every bedroom, even the bathroom. Mama’s not home either, but I pull out the phone I share with Tyler and realize she called me a shit-ton of times and sent me a bunch of texts saying that she was going out for drinks with some new friend of hers and just reminding Tyler and me to be safe and that she loves us. I think she’s dating again.

And it finally hits me. I can’t even call him because I have our phone. I try to call Johntae. He doesn’t answer. My heart has pounded its way numb—everything feels like I’m being closed in, and my skin burns like the moment I saw the look in Tyler’s eyes when he last walked away from me. The emptiness. I want to scream.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I yell, walking back and forth in the living room.

G-mo and Ivy are waiting on the couch for their parents with horrified looks on their faces, both on the verge of tears.

“What the actual fuck?” G-mo repeats on loop, holding his arms together as if to make sure he’s still in one piece.

I pause in place, taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time. My entire body is shaking, a chill shooting through me. I turn back to look at the front door. “Where are you, Tyler?” I wait for him to barge through at any moment.

Ivy gets to her feet, rolling up the bottoms of her pants. And with so much shock in her eyes, she says, “He’s fine. He probably just left the party after Johntae treated him like shit.”

G-mo keeps his bushy eyebrows raised. “What the fuck.”

I gasp. And I gasp, and tears are coming out again because my thoughts are just too damn much right now. And I don’t even bother to be ashamed. I don’t even turn away from Ivy and G-mo.

My phone buzzes against my thigh. I snatch it from my pocket to see if it’s Tyler, hoping he’s somewhere safe with a working phone.

But it’s not. It’s Mama.

I don’t even know if I should answer.

She hangs up before I give in.

Eventually, G-mo’s and Ivy’s parent pick them up from my place, leaving me to pace the living room, not sure of what to do. What should I do?

When Mama gets back home, she’s still wearing her teal Tweety Bird scrubs, a pink headband on. I can tell she’s had a few shots of Hennessy. I know the look when I see it.

“Where’s your brother?” she asks, placing her purse on the kitchen table.

I don’t know. I can’t tell her that. But I can lie.

“He stayed over at a friend’s place.”

“What friend?” She looks up at me, squinting. “Don’t you lie to me either!”

I have to look away. “Someone from school. They had a project or something. He said he’ll be back by morning.” Even I almost believe it.

Her fists clench, but all her other muscles loosen and she’s breathing normally again, not wheezing with frustration, like she normally does right before she lights a cigarette.

“Does he at least have ya’ll’s phone?”

“No. I do.”

She cuts me a side-eye so hard. “Ya’ll ain’t got the sense God gave you,” she says. “He better be back by the morning.”

I nod, hoping so badly that he will be.

I head to my room, where it’s dark and cold because I left my window open. I call Ivy and G-mo. Neither of them pick up.

I stare at my ceiling, and it starts to fully sink in that I don’t know where the hell my brother is. I press my palms together and interlock my fingers. I pray—no, beg God to watch over Tyler, wherever he is, to make sure he stays safe, to make sure he gets back to us okay.

My eyes get all heavy and tired, but I try to force myself to stay awake, replaying my conversation with Tyler, replaying the screaming, replaying the gunshots. I tell myself I don’t deserve sleep, and I just stare at my alarm clock, hating myself a little more every time the numbers go up, waiting for him to come back home.