"It was a clinging hug with all the desperation of a tether ball rope wrapping with quickening centripetal force around its pole."

Damarcus had always resented his sister Felicia for the way she had looked at him when they were younger. It was the day that they had moved into their new home that he held on to most dearly. He ran his fingers along the tin exterior, and climbed inside, marveling at the hole-free screen door that would keep out the bugs and at the small, rectangular window in the one bedroom. "I can jump up 'n down all the time, can't I?" he jumped and jumped and grinned until the pot fell off the stove and the dinner with it. "You dumbshit," Felicia yelled, "Momma's gonna be pissed when she gets home and there's nothing to eat!" It wasn't what she said, though, that hurt Damarcus. It was the way she looked at him--the same way their mom had looked at their dad.