Page 58 of The Other Brother
“Come in.”
“Thanks.”
As he follows me through the living room, I can’t help seeing it through his eyes. I think Cody’s been to my house once when we were kids for a birthday party for Mel, but not for ages.
Our place is definitely not as flashy as his house. Mum’s been moaning about replacing the carpet but has decided since I’m the one to blame for most of the stains, they’ll wait until I leave home to do it.
Cody steps around a stain in the middle of the lounge, which was the result of me attempting the baking powder, red food coloring, and vinegar homemade volcano experiment one day when I was ten. I don’t blame him for his avoidance. It looks like there should be a body chalk outline somewhere in close proximity.
He stops when he passes the bookshelf and picks up a photo of Kate, Mel, and me, taken when I was eight.
“I’d forgotten about Kate’s perm,” he says.
“Lucky you. I try to block out the memory, but it returns to me in the dead of night sometimes.”
Cody grins as he picks up another photo, this time of the three of us in front of the Christmas tree, dressed in the worst Christmas themed sweaters known to man. My jersey has a lopsided Rudolph on it with a demonic grin. Thank God Mum moved on quickly from her knitting phase.
It’s weird to think Cody probably has his own versions of these photos, only where he is subbed in instead of me. Mel and Kate’s interchangeable brothers.
“Great sweaters.”
“Yep, it’s fair to say that was the highlight of my fashion career.”
“I’d forgotten how long your hair used to be.” He’s moved on to look at a school photo of me from my first year at high school.
“Yeah, it was halfway down my back at one point.”
“Why did you cut it?”
I almost go with my standard "I got sick of it," but for some reason I decide to tell Cody the truth.
“Someone at school called me a Barbie doll.”
He almost drops the frame. “Really?”
“Yeah, year nine. I wasn’t as comfortable in my masculinity then as I am now.” I say the words as a joke, but I’m fairly sure Cody hears the truth in them by the look he gives me. “So I cut it off to shoulder length.”
“Then you shaved it all off, what, last June?”
“Yeah, that was to raise money for kid’s cancer. I got sponsored nearly a grand.”
“Wow. Do you miss having long hair?” He puts the frame back gently on the shelf.
I shrug. “Sometimes. I did rock the man-bun look.”
He grins.
“Right. My biology textbook isn’t going to teach itself.” I nod toward the dining room. I’ve set up my biology stuff at the table there. The desk in my room is small, and also it somehow felt safer in my campaign to put Cody squarely in the friend’s box, to not have him in my room.
Cody follows me and takes a seat, reaching for the textbook. “What are you doing at the moment?”
“Genetics. And it’s really kicking my ass.”
“Cool, let’s start there then.”
And so we dig deep into the wonderful world of alleles and chromosomes.
“Who do you think you’re more like, your mum or your dad?” I ask him as I stretch back after I’ve done so many dihybrid crosses it feels like my eyes are crossing too.
