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“Yeah.” Kiki looks closely at me. Way too closely.

“You’re really different from how I thought you’d be.”

I shift uneasily, unable to tell whether she means it as a good thing or a bad one, but before I can ask, she springs off the sofa and tells me to get some rest before dinner, then leaves the room. And just like that, I’m alone, feeling emptier than I have ever felt in my life. It’s not just the long journey, it’s that I’ve returned to my mother’s homeland to find that I’m a complete stranger, anoutcast even, and there’s something so painfully lonely in that realization.

Tears prick my eyes. Before I can stop myself, I reach for my phone and send a WhatsApp message to Bradley. Just two words:Save me.

As it turns out, confiscating my electronics isn’t a logical punishment, given I need them for school, so for now, the new rule around the house is that the Wi-Fi password is off-limits to Eleanor and me unless we need it for school assignments. To circumvent our computers saving the Wi-Fi password, Papa changes it after every use. It sounds terrible, and it sort of is, but Papa and Eighth Aunt seem to think that if they don’t, I’ll be spending all my time rocking back and forth in a dark corner, pining for the internet.

In hindsight, I should’ve done that once or twice at least, just to appease them. Instead, I foolishly took it as a long-needed break from the everything-ness of the internet and spent the whole of last week coming up with new features for OneLiner. I have so many ideas for the app—how to streamline it so it loads faster, how to make it more user-friendly, and how to make it stand out in the app store. My favorite idea is to have a share-your-story section where our users can post about how toxic masculinity has affected them. I think it would help for boys to hearhow their actions affect others. There are a gazillion apps aimed at teen boys, and admittedly, apps that take more of an educational slant are less popular than the flashy ones. Even Eighth Aunt doesn’t think it’ll actually get many users; she just thinks it’ll look good for the company’s profile.

When I get tired of thinking of all the things I can do with OneLiner, I take a break and start going through my TBR pile. My poor books, they’ve been so neglected, especially since Simon and I started playingWarfront Heroes.It’s been nice getting through the pile of hardbacks—

There’s a single knock. The next second, the door crashes open and Eleanor comes bounding in, her face shining with excitement, her pigtails bouncing wildly. She’s learned the art of the non-knock from Papa.

“Oh good, you’re not doing your gross-teenage-boy thing again,” she says by way of greeting, bouncing onto the sofa at the foot of my bed.

I don’t bother looking up from my book. “Go ’way.”

“You’re going to want to listen, big bro.”

When I don’t respond, Eleanor jumps off the sofa, scampers to my reading nook, and puts her face up against the book cover. “Hellooo, gege.”

This is hopeless. “What?” I sigh, putting the book down and giving Eleanor a pointed I-am-not-interested-in-whatever-you’re-going-to-say look.

With a grin, Eleanor straightens up. “Okay, so. Despite the fact that you’ve completely ruined my social life—”

“How did I ruin your social life?” The moment I say it, I realize I’ve walked into her trap. I should’ve just stayed quiet.

“Did you forget that Papa was about to take me to—”

“Pacific Place to get you your first-ever phone, yeah, yeah.”

“Sooo! I’ve thought of a way that you can prove to Papa that you’re not this”—she gestures vaguely at me—“this sad, pathetic weird guy.”

“Thanks.”

“And that’s to find you a proper, age-appropriate, family-approved girlfriend. A human one.”

“What?” I shake my head and snort. “You’re being ridiculous. As usual. Are you done? Because I’d really like to get back to my book.”

“Harry Potter can wait, George.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not Harry Potter, it’s a Hugo-winning fantasy by a Black writer named N. K. Jemisin—”

“I hope you realize you sound like a thirty-year-old nerd. This is exactly why you need my help to get you a real, human girlfriend.”

I groan into my hands. “Okay, I’ve listened to your pitch. Now please go away.”

“But you agree to it, right?”

“What?” I think of my annoying little sister finding me a “human girlfriend” and sigh. Where’s she even going to start? She’s like this, always starting little projects and then getting tired of them half a minute later and moving on to the next thing. “Sure, whatever. Go crazy.”

The effect is immediate. She practically lunges at me, givesme a huge hug, and then springs away before I can hug her back. “Papa! Pa! PA! Gege said okay!”

“Wait, what?” Papa’s involved? Oh no. I have a really bad feeling about this. “Hang on, Eleanor—”

But it’s too late. Like some terrible, vengeful god rising from the depths of the sea, Papa appears in the doorway. I gape at him. “Have you just been standing outside my room the entire time?”