My little brother freezes on the steps. He drops his hand from his eyes, shock flashing across his face. It's followed quickly by panic.
And I, meanwhile, suddenly find myself fighting down anger. I've spent the last couple of weeks worried sick about him, trying to help him but getting only vague explanations and unanswered calls in return.
"Would you like to tell everyone why I'm here, Javy?" I say.
My parents both turn toward him, their faces wrinkled in confusion. My mother places her hand on my arm. "What are you talking about, honey?"
Part of me wonders if I should try to respect my brother's wishes and address this in private, but I suspect that's out of the question now. There's no way my mom will let us get away with that.
"Javy's been calling me these past few weeks, claiming he's in trouble," I say. "But he won't tell me why."
"Trouble?" My dad's frown deepens. "What's going on?"