By the time I got back, my brother was home. I knew from the little blue sticker on my doorknob. We had an entire system worked out. If it was a red sticker, I had to go out for at least an hour after seeing the sticker. When green stickers appeared, I was supposed to wait twenty minutes.

Blue meant he wasn’t sure how long I needed to leave the apartment.

Red meant an official meeting. Green meant a chat. Blue meant business.  

When my brother first started looking after me, he told me, “I don’t need to tell you not to light the place on fire when I’m not here. You’re a smart kid. You know what you should, and what you shouldn’t do.”

He had said that in a light tone, and ruffled my hair. A warning, hidden in a casual remark. Whenever the stickers appeared, I had heeded his warning and waited it out on the steps outside. Once or twice, I had half-heartedly pressed my ear against the door because I felt like I was obligated to. Incomprehensible murmurs were all I heard, and I was glad I couldn’t understand more.

Today, however, there was shouting on the other side of the wall. It took me a moment to realize that it was my brother who was doing most of the shouting. It was startling to hear my brother raise his voice. My brother, who might mumble one or two sentences to me on a good day, was yelling. Swearing. Cursing.

It frightened me a little.

Our neighbour, a middle-aged woman poked her head out from her doorway and frowned at me.

“What in the world is going on in your apartment?”

“My brother’s having an argument with his girlfriend,” I lied, leaning against the wall.

“I didn’t know he’d gotten a woman.” Our neighbour was nosier than I’d thought. “What’s she like?”

“Don’t know. Never met her.”

She squinted at me, and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Well, you better get to bed. You do go to school, don’t you? Don’t want to turn out like your brother.”

She closed her door before I could respond. Snobby old woman. I didn’t feel hurt by her words, but I wondered: how exactly had my brother turned out? He wasn’t the same person he’d been three years ago, but neither was I. We’d both grown quieter, less affectionate. Less whole.

“When are you going to get it done?” The shouting on the other side was slowly subsiding into tense conversation.

“Soon. Trust me.” My brother no longer sounded angry. Just tired.

“Trust,” the other person sneered, “is empty. Just get it done.”

The door opened, and a man in a grey suit walked out. He passed by me and then stopped.

“You his sister?” he asked, cocking his head. As soon as he said that, my brother came out.

“Goodbye Mr. Lee,” my brother said pointedly, stepping in front of me. Neither of them moved until the other man sighed and spat on the floor. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Take good care of her,” the other man said, as he walked away. “She’s a keeper.  

My brother waited until the man had gone done the stairs.

He might have asked me what I’d been doing out so late.

Instead, my brother turned his back to me.

“It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

“Who was he?”

“May, just go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

He turned around and gave me a bitter smile.

“You don’t want to turn out like me.”