Nobody pays attention to Donny when he yells about fucking people up, but I do.

From my perch on the stairs, I watch words fly out of his mouth, furious hard bees, buzzing for something soft to sting.

Skylar says Donny is a clown and nobody should pay him no mind, but I feel the heat in Donny’s voice—hungry fire, greedy for air. “If he’s such a clown, why does Ma let him stay with us,” I ask, but Skylar laughs and says I’ll understand when I grow up. But what does he know? He’s been crashing at Josie’s since Donny moved in.

Ma tells me to hush—Donny is a child, another little boy who needs her. I shrug. I’ve heard this before. Glad he’s not my dad. Donny’s got a shadow around him, like the dark circle around the sun when you look straight up at it. It’s just a matter of time before something bad happens. I keep out of his way, make myself real small. I stay on the top stair, until the day Donny catches me watching him and yanks my arm, twisting it behind my back as he pulls me down with him.

Now I hide in plain sight, curling up inside Donny’s words. I come home from school, slamming my backpack on the kitchen table, calling my teachers stupid bitches, goddam fags if he’s sprawled on the couch in the living room. He nods. That’s my boy. Ma stares at me like she doesn’t know who I am. The worry darkens the circles under her eyes.

The night he comes home banging louder than usual, stinking of the anger and fear his body can’t get rid of, Ma is in the kitchen, heating dinner on the stove, one hand on a hip, the other stirring the pot with a big wooden spoon. I sit at the kitchen table, pretending to fill out a vocabulary worksheet.

“Fuckin’ cunts,” he yells at the living room walls, his voice shattering doorknobs, and as he charges into the kitchen I look up. He’s usually angry and loud when he comes home from work, but tonight’s different. “Fuckin’ cunts,” he repeats, “nobody listens, you stupid bitch,” bullet-sized words hurled into Ma’s softness. I push up from the table, trying to step between them, but Donny’s already got one arm around her middle, the other grabbing the spoon. I reach toward him, but he elbows me out of the way. Backing into a corner I whisper “Sorry,” hoping it doesn’t sound like I told you so.