24.9K 517 79



“So I bet Bobby and Robinho are going to be best buds, huh?”

My brother was snoring loudly in the back seat and I laughed quietly so he wouldn’t wake up. “Only if Robinho would just admit that he is the shortest.”

Angelo whipped his head around like I’d just slapped him on the face. “You didn’t mean that, did you?”

“I only say what I mean.”

Either Angelo was an actor void of an Oscar or he was genuinely mystified by what I said- but I would put money on the first.

“You need glasses”, he said kissing his teeth.

Now he was just asking for it. “The only reason why your brother thinks he’s taller it’s ‘cos of his mohawk which gives him an unfair advantage.”

That re-started another heated argument between me and the ButtBag which had first begun at his house when Bobby and Robinho first met. The two hit it off quite quickly, starting with an introductory staring match. Angelo had to break it off or someone was going to end up with a stiff face by the end of the night.

  Apparently, Robinho’s method of ‘getting to know’ someone was to challenge Bobby to a game of Mario Kart. My brother never the one to step down from a challenge, stepped up to the bait.

Angelo had become uncomfortable and quiet when his mum and I eventually exchanged            pleasantries and she introduced herself as Sara. That only happened because I got caught by her for sitting on the stairs staring at her and she had made sure to point out that fact loudly to her son.

Sara had to call the intense debate between Bobby and Robinho a night, seeing that both boys were getting more and more frustrated with each other’s refusal to accept defeat.

“You know what I think?”

“Please let me know,” he said in his little sarcastic way as he eased his car outside my house.

“I think it’s time for me to get inside so I’m just going to agree to disagree but we both know that they’re the same height.”

“Hm, whatever helps you sleep at night”, he said with a mischievous smile dancing on his lips, “make sure you’re at my house by ten tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. You know how many people would kill just to gain entrance to see this handsome papi?”

Ignoring his usual conceited remarks, I asked a question I had meant to ask him earlier regarding his standoffish attitude earlier on. “Are you-- are you embarassed of your mother?”