Page 39 of As You Walk On

I wonder whyI’mthinking about it.

When they return, River’s clutching a board game box—a special edition Disney Monopoly.

(The obsession is real for Maddie.)

“Whenever Katie’s friends come around,” River begins to explain, “I get a little anxious. They’re so cool and I’m... not?”

I pucker my lips disapprovingly.

“Not yet!” corrects River with only a hint of uncertainty. “Anyway, to calm me down, she cooks, then we have game night.”

“So, like an icebreaker?” I ask.

Dear God, don’t let this turn into anime club all over again.

River shrugs, like they’re afraid it’s a bad idea. “It’s... fun.” For emphasis, they shake the Monopoly box. The pieces rattle around inside.

Luca barely holds in a snort.

I tilt my chin up, putting on my best thoughtful face. The opportunity to torture River in a teasing way like they did us minutes ago is too tempting. But I don’t drag it out.

“Fine.” I smirk. “But only if I’m the banker.”

Before I know it, the game board is in the center of the floor. Tokens are selected: I seize Pinocchio while Luca grabs Peter Pan and River goes for Lady and the Tramp. Luca wastes no time buying everything he lands on. River is ruthless about collecting on their castle-front properties. I end up in jail on my third roll.

We laugh so hard tears cling to the corners of my eyes.

River was right—I love this.

I open the music app on my phone. We listen to my Thunderstorm Vibes playlist, a collection of chill synthpop songs. River’s “borrowed” a pink-and-purple feather boa from the end of Maddie’s bed. Luca’s wearing a pair of yellow heart-shaped sunglasses. A plastic, bejeweled crown sits lopsidedly on my head.

Between dice rolls, River paints Luca’s nails licorice black from a bottle swiped off the dresser.

“Not to be dramatic,” he starts, “but if my papá or tíos saw me now, it wouldn’t be a pretty sitch.”

“Why?” I ask.

He rants in Spanish for a minute before realizing River and I aren’t following along. “This isn’tmasculine.” He wiggles his painted fingers. Then, in a rough, forced voice, he says, “It’s too feminine. Not for men. Boys should be strong and unbreakable, not ‘delicate’ or ‘soft.’ ”

I guess he’s mimicking his dad.

“He always comments on what I’m wearing,” Luca continues, the lines around his mouth deepening. “ ‘Are those flowers on your shirt? No bueno.’ And ‘Why are your pants so tight?’ ‘Did you accidentally shop in the chicas section, mijo? Change. Don’t be a bad example to your hermanos!’ Like what I wear has anything to do with being a role model for my brothers.”

“Like they’re not capable of making up their own minds about who they want to be,” adds River.

“Exactly!”

“Just another subscriber to the social constructs of gender norms,” grumbles River.

“It’s such bullshit.”

I don’t comment. My eyes lower to my shrinking pile of fake money.

Thing is, I know what that’s like. The expectation for Black or brown boys to constantly bestrong. Stand, dress, and talk a certain way. Carry a particular type of swagger. Repress tendencies that don’t fit in our communities.

Dad hasn’t impressed this on me. Everyone else has.

We’re supposed to live up to that toxic definition ofmasculinity, no matter what.