“You wouldn’t even be in this school without Aunt Zelda’s money, so I guess we’re both dependents, huh? Me on you, and you on our dead aunt.”
“Don’t bring Tita Zelda into this, asshole.”
“Don’t call me an asshole, faggot.”
I push my brother and he pushes me back before rushing right into my face. His hot breath smells like protein bars. Even though my brother has a six-pack of abs and cannonballs for muscles, I won’t take being called a faggot from him, even if it’s true.
He scowls and I stare him right back in the eyes. It’s like being kids all over again, except he’s bigger than me now.
Still, I stand my ground. “Why’d you call me a faggot?”
My brother’s scowl turns into a twisted smile.
“I thought you were comfortable being queer.”
“I am, which is why I have no problem kicking your ass for calling me that.”
Carlos gives me his best ice grill, but then, he eventually swats the air “You ain’t even about that life.” He walks over to the bar in the corner of the room by the window.
I follow him, wanting to diffuse the tension. It wasn’t supposed to get personal. “Alright, look, man. As the head of your pledge class, it’s your responsibility to make sure they’re here right now. Not mine, and not Jorge’s.
He ducks beneath the bar and pulls up a bottle of Coke. I forbid alcohol in our room. He pours the black liquid in a red, plastic cup and takes a sip.
“And they will be here,” he says. “I already told you that.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. I cross my arms.
“You know, that was really messed up what you said before about Tita Zelda,” I tell him.
Carlos shrugs his massive shoulders. “Yeah, like it ain’t true. Her death was the best thing to ever happen to you. You certainly wasn’t gettin’ into this school with a scholarship with your grades.”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole, huh? Tita Zelda’s money has nothing to do with this. I’m up here because it’s your—”
Just then, the door bell rings downstairs. Since it’s broken, it buzzes incessantly once pressed. The buzzing is followed by heavy knocking.
“Yo, that better not be a pledge knocking like that.” Carlos says. He peers out the window to his right. Being that our room is adjacent to the street, we have a direct view of our front door. My brother raises his eyebrows. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who?” I ask. For some reason, I feel sick to my stomach with dread.
“You better get your ass downstairs right now and answer that,” he says. “The dean’s here.”
A Boy and His Corpse Page 17
