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Malcolm was 12 the first time he had an anxiety attack. It had come and gone so quickly he’d forgotten about it within the week, life going back to normal just as soon as he made mom mad again. He’d had his second anxiety attack when he was 14, and he forgot about that one too- that one had been because of a test and had gone away as soon as he sat down to take it. Thinking back, he couldn’t remember actually taking the test, but he did remember Herkabe handing him the paper and him standing up to hand it back. Now he was 15. A little more studied in the art of psychology. Malcolm was almost positive that he was having a panic attack.
He was sitting in his desk in English class. He couldn’t see much but for the black that was creeping in on the edges of his vision. There were gray waves going over everything else. He could hear the teacher, “And adverbs can be very useful in creative writing, especially when used in a contradictory manner- does everyone know what contradictory means?” She wasn’t a very effective educator. She treated the students like they were in preschool. Malcolm felt an oddly normal wave of annoyance brush past him–as opposed to sweeping him away in it–as he thought about how this teacher taught. For some reason, he was holding very still and staring straight at her. He nodded like he was paying attention, and he really could hear everything she was saying, but he was vaguely aware that he wasn’t really breathing. He felt suddenly that he wasn't even there, wasn't anywhere, and that he didn't really have a body.
His chest hurt, and there was a deep, dreadful, rotting feeling around his heart. His stomach felt hollow and gray.
“Malcolm? Care to join the class?”
“What?” He asked softly. He tried to look up at his teacher, but he couldn’t seem to find her face. When he did, it didn't seem like hers.
“Malcolm, are you feeling alright?” Her voice now was floating as a whisper from across a chasm.
“Don’t pass out,” Malcolm mumbled, gasping in a breath. “Be fine. I’m fine.” He couldn’t see anything at all now, and his realized dimly that his hands were covering his face. Something was tugging at his wrist, but he held it back, mumbling his wordless dissent. His ears were ringing.
When he could think again, Malcolm couldn’t figure out where he was for a minute. There were a couple of people nearby, talking to each other. He sat up, grimacing.
“Malcolm,” someone said in surprise.
He looked at first the wrong direction, hearing the reverb of the voice before the voice itself. Trying the other way, he saw Hal. “Dad?” he asked, brows furrowing together. Malcolm brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes.
“Oh, there you are sweetie, we were worried about you!” Lois was in his face suddenly, pulling his hand away and cupping his cheeks and squishing him.
Malcolm pulled away from her, feeling awfully sick. “What’s going on?”
“You had a panic attack, sugar.” A new voice chips in, one that’s new. Malcolm recognizes her before he sees her. The school nurse. He puts his hands back on his eyes and tries not to feel or think or breathe or anything. He can feel his heart beginning to hollow out again as dread hits him in waves. There’s nausea down in his gut and his arms were starting to feel strange.
“Malcolm, you’re shaking! He’s shaking! Ms.Hannarty, please do something!” Malcolm’s mother cried.
“Mom, I feel sick,” Malcolm mumbled. “I feel really sick.”
There was a panic in the room for a bucket, but Malcolm knew he wouldn’t need it. He was too hollow to throw up. It was pushed into his rotting, aching chest and someone wrapped his limp arms around it, but Malcolm turned his head away and pushed through the hands and the people, and the stupid bucket fell to the stupid floor, but so did Malcolm. He hit the ground hard.
Malcolm woke up at home, by himself in his room. He remembered something about cold medicine, and mom holding him like a baby, and he was crying. But that couldn’t be right. None of that would ever… that didn’t make sense. Dewey and Reese must be somewhere else. Malcolm got out of his bed, feeling now very light and loopy and not scared of dying at all anymore. Feeling very much actually like he could fly if he dreamed it hard enough. He floated out of his room and into the bathroom. Reese was in there, pissing.
“Hey Malcolm,” He said casually, nodding to his brother.
“Hey Reese.” Malcolm sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the broken linen closet door. He stood up again and started trying to fix it. The hinge had torn off the trim. He heard Reese’s zipper, and then the toilet flushed.
“Heard about what happened,” Reese said, trying to be casual still.
“What happened?” Malcolm asked, focused on the cupboard hinge. Maybe he could get another board and replace the broken trim and-
“What do you mean what happened? The whole school was talking about it, you totally freaked out in third period! Not a good time to freak out. If you have to, at least wait until fourth, that way it’s after lunch and you have a whole day to flee the country before the story spreads.”
Malcolm still didn’t look at Reese, though he did realize. He had freaked out. Maybe pretty big too. He turned to Reese. “Was it bad?”
“From what I heard, you tried to murder-suicide your English teacher.” Reese shrugged.
“That’s ridiculous,” Malcolm grumbled, turning back to the hinge. After he put on the new board, and maybe after this headache went away, he could-
“Malcolm,” Reese said in a suddenly serious tone. “You know I don’t do feelings. I never do feelings. But I’m your brother. If someone’s picking on you and making you want to murder people, you just have to tell me. I’ll whack ‘em, no problem.”
Malcolm couldn’t look at Reese just then. He put his head against the wall instead.
“I will, Malcolm.” Reese’s hand set down on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You know I will.”
“Reese, I’m-” How was Malcolm supposed to explain these feelings to his brother? To Reese? Reese was always happy. Always happy and sunny thoughts. He sang the Minty Mint song instead of feeling anything that wasn’t happy! “I’m not feeling very well. Nobody’s picking on me. I just-” Malcolm turned to Reese, who was visibly concerned for Malcolm, and being oddly vulnerable in the moment. “Remember when you were sad for a whole week?”
Reese frowned, pulling away and becoming very guarded. “Yeah…” he said slowly.
“Don’t worry, I’m just trying to explain what’s… what’s happening to me. I think.” Malcolm sighed, frustrated, and brought his hands up to his eyes again. “I’m having that. But I’m not sad, I’m scared.”
“Oh, well… what are you scared of? If it’s spiders I can’t help you.”
Malcolm shook his head. “No, it’s like your sadness. You weren’t sad for any reason, right? It was just in you. This scaredness is just there. Sitting around in my head, waiting to get me when I’m not paying attention. I don’t… I don’t know, nevermind.” He went back to the broken cupboard door, if only to have something to fiddle with while Reese slowly chose his response. Malcolm froze entirely as he felt Reese hug him.
“I know. It’s going to be okay.”
He sounded so sure of himself and his skin was so warm that Malcolm accidentally asked, “How do you know?”
Reese was quiet, and let go of Malcolm. “I can’t tell you yet.” Then he left the bathroom.
“What?” Malcolm yelled, following after Reese. “What do you mean you can’t tell me?”
Reese stopped in front of the fridge, staring at Malcolm.
“What?” Malcolm urged.
“He’s all yours, Mom,” Reese said, still making eye contact with Malcolm.
“What?” Malcolm’s arms were grabbed and he was sat down at the kitchen table. His chair was pushed in and dinner was set down before him. Lois grabbed Malcolm’s wrist and pushed a fork into his hand, closing his fingers around it for him. This all happened before Malcolm knew what was going on, and he looked at his hand in confusion.
“You haven’t eaten in awhile. I made your favorite, special.” Lois sat down in her chair at the head of the table slowly, in a calculated way. Her hand remained on Malcolm’s, holding the fork in his fist. Hal sat in Reese’s spot, to Malcolm’s left.
Malcolm felt very trapped, and his head swung a couple of times between his mom and dad, until finally he looked at what was before him. “Meatloaf?”
“Okay, so maybe not your favorite. Eat up.”
“What time is it?” Malcolm asked, searching for the clock on the wall.
“Pretty late,” Lois sighed. “Eat, Malcolm.”
He looked out the window and saw the darkness of night. “What time is it, Mom?”
Hal checked his watch. “Almost midnight, now eat up, please son. And then it’ll have to be back to bed for you.”
Malcolm sighed and ate the meatloaf. He could feel his parents' eyes on him the whole time, so he stared down only at his plate. It was quiet until he was finished. He set his fork down with a clink.
“What happened today at school, Malcolm?” Lois asked.
“If something’s upsetting you, we’d like to know about it. Maybe we could help!” Hal added quickly.
Malcolm didn’t really know what to say. He paused, thinking it over, but nothing came to him. “Can I go back to bed now?”
“Not until you tell us what’s going on. Is someone picking on you? Have you been having episodes like that often?”
“ No , mom,” Malcolm grumbled. She was babying him and that didn’t make any sense.
“Is it your coursework?” Hal asked, nervous.
“No.”
Hal settled down with a twitchy smile.
“Well then I don’t see what it could be, Malcolm. What’s going on to make you break down?”
“I don’t know. Must be nothing. A one-and-done. Can I go to my room please?” Malcolm frowned down at his plate.
Silence met his question until Lois sighed and nodded her assent. “Go for it. Go to sleep , mister.”
Malcolm said nothing and trudged off to his room. He was met by Reese’s stare. Reese sat on his bed, comic in hand, though it was one of Dewey’s comics and something he’d never read. Not that he ever did read.
“What?” Malcolm grumbled, sitting on his own bed.
Reese was still more serious than usual, and didn’t smile or joke in response to Malcolm’s growing irritation. He set the comic aside and looked like he was trying to decide something. He seemed nervous.
“What?” Malcolm didn’t really want to play anymore games, he didn’t have the energy for it.
“When you were little you did this, too,” Reese said hesitantly. “Just once.”
Malcolm stared at Reese, face pinched into confusion.
“When you were 12. When mom’s dress got burned and someone left it in the toilet.”
Realization struck him. “The phone. Francis.”
“Yeah.”
They were quiet for a minute as Reese watched Malcolm’s memories load back into his brain. Though Malcolm had forgotten it, Reese never had.
“She caught us on the phone and…” Malcolm looked up at Reese. “Who burned that dress?”
Reese shrugged. “Not me.”
“Not me,” Malcolm echoed quietly, still caught up in his memories. He stopped talking, staring off as he remembered.
Reese watched him for a second, then said, “I remember that me and Dewey were in our room while you snuck out to use the phone. You came back yelling, but you couldn’t get a full sentence out.”
“Not good,” Malcolm quoted in a mutter, echoing his younger self.
“Yeah, it’s burned into my brain. I could never get it out. Two weeks later the Minty Mint commercial aired and I thought, wow, great timing. Where was this two weeks ago?”
“Yeah, I… I remember that day. I didn’t, but now I do.”
“You came in yelling, not good not good, and I asked what’s wrong and all you could do was yell ‘Mom, Phone.’ That’s when you started crying.”
Malcolm nodded.
Reese didn’t say so, but he had been scared that day. Very scared.
It had started like a normal day. Reese and Malcolm had come up with a great plan to hang Dewey up from the door with some rope they’d found in the garage. They’d snuck it past mom and celebrated with a simple, “That was close,” by Dewey. After that, they started thinking about an anniversary gift. Malcolm wrung 20 bucks out of Francis with a sly grin, and then bought a picture frame. Him, Reese, and Dewey had been wrapping it at the kitchen table when everything went rotten.
Reese had just smacked the bow down onto the gift when Lois stormed into the kitchen, shaking with rage. “Fire?! FIRE?” In hand she held a once-beautiful red dress, soaked now with toilet water and singed black.
“Malcolm did it!”
“ Reese did it!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“ I didn’t do it!”
“Nobody is going anywhere until one of you tells me who !”
The three brothers endured the loss of precious planes, and the spinning, and the corner squish, and the under-the-couch. Then Malcolm thought to call Francis. Things seemed to tip in their favor from there, with all three brothers surviving their separate interviews, and even surviving that godforsaken ‘nice is good’ soundtrack of Dewey’s. But mom was always ready. She got their dance on camera. It was the calm before the storm, and then the murder threat against the TV. They managed to save the TV, but at their own detriment.
“In your room, NOW.”
It could be argued that this was the catalyst for Mom catching Francis and Malcolm on the phone.
“Wait a minute. Did you hear breathing?” Francis whispered into his receiver.
“What?” Malcolm asked, confused.
“Mom?”
Quiet.
“Malcolm.” A smile nobody could see, but could feel in their bones. “Would you hang up the phone, please?”
Malcolm’s heart dropped into his shoes. He slammed his thumb against the end call button and threw the phone away from himself, running back to Reese and Dewey. “Not good, not good!” he shouted, running back and forth.
“What is it? What?” Reese demanded, pushing himself off his bed.
“Mom, phone!” Malcolm hollered, chest heaving in deep breaths. He kept running, like he thought he was going to get somewhere. Tears began to thread down his cheeks.
“Oh, man!” Reese put his hands up to his head, staring in a panic at Malcolm.
“We’re gonna die!” Dewey screeched, throwing himself under the bed to hide.
“That’s it, I gotta run away,” Malcolm said shakily, rushing to his dresser, hands ripping at the drawers. He heaved in heavy, scared breaths, tears pouring freely. “She’ll kill me, I’ll die for real this time. It wasn’t even me but I think she-” he was wrestling with a t-shirt, which was caught deep in the dresser drawer’s splintered edge, “she’ll blame me and, and, I don’t know, feed me to wolves or-”
“Malcolm.”
“Or bears, or, or maybe she’ll-” he gasped in a hiccupping, sobbing breath, “put me out in the woods and leave me there to die and a cougar will eat me, or-”
“Malcolm!” Reese barked.
“What?!” he screamed, rounding on Reese.
Reese took a step back, startled. “We can get outta this! You just have to think.”
“Think?!” Malcolm yelled. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place! We’re gonna die and it’s gonna be all my fault!” He dropped the shirt, accepting his fate. Malcolm swiped at the tears on his face, some tiny part of his brain surprised by their presence. He could feel his heart banging away in his chest and his lungs not having enough air in them, and his hands were sweaty and he felt a little lightheaded and-
“Malcolm!” Reese was in his face, the front of Malcolm’s t-shirt balled up in his fists. “Quit freaking out! Stop! We’re gonna be fine!”
Malcolm looked to his brother with wide, terrified eyes.
“Quit shaking!” Reese barked. His face was mad, but on the inside, Reese felt very very scared. Maybe almost as scared as Malcolm looked. When Malcolm cried during fighting, Reese always knew that was where he stopped. If Malcolm cried while he was sick, it was because usually he had a really bad headache that wouldn’t go away. But Malcolm never cried because he was scared. Malcolm had never cried because of mom. He was supposed to think, he was the smart one. Why wasn’t he thinking? Why were his hands shaking so bad? Why couldn’t he stop crying and breathing like that and just think ?
Malcolm went weak in the knees and crumpled to the floor. He was hyperventilating and crying still, sobs suddenly bursting out of him in shoulder-shaking force. Reese let go of his t-shirt and stood back, wide-eyed. Dewey, under the bed, looked fearfully to Malcolm as well.
“We really are gonna die, aren’t we?” Dewey asked quietly, looking from Malcolm, who was full-body sobbing, to Reese, who was watching in horror.
“No, we’re-we’re not. We’re not !” Reese insisted, trying to pull himself together and muster up the courage to handle this. “We’re gonna be fine. Dewey, start packing a bag. Put clothes in it and snacks. And Comics.” He looked to Dewey, who was hesitating. “ Now, Buttmunch!”
Dewey scrambled out from under the bed and started packing them all a bag. Reese watched him for a second, frowning, trying desperately to think of how to fix Malcolm. Malcolm, who was still bawling, breathing, shaking like he’d been electrocuted. When Reese looked back at him, he saw that Malcolm had balled up against the wall, hiding his face behind his hands. He looked really tiny, and really really scared.
“Malcolm, we’re not gonna die. Maybe grounded for life, no TV forever… and no candy ever again. But we’re not gonna die, do you hear me?”
Malcolm really didn’t seem to.
Reese kneeled down in front of him, putting a hesitant hand on his knee. “Stop crying already, we’re gonna be fine. Dewey’s packing a bag so we can run away.” Despite his words being blunt, Reese’s face was openly concerned. Malcolm sobbed again, hiccupping pitifully. Reese tried being gentle. “Hey,” he said softly. “Quit crying, we’re gonna live.”
But Malcolm couldn’t stop crying, and couldn’t stop panting for air, and couldn’t unravel the ball he was in, and wouldn’t under any circumstances pull his hands away from his face. He felt the hot tears trickling against the sweaty palms he had pushing into his cheeks, and he could feel his chest heaving up and down and in and out for at least one good breath but none of them were good enough and they’d never be good enough, and he’d never get another chance to breathe again because his mom was going to kill him.
Reese didn’t try talking again- Malcolm wasn’t hearing him. He glanced at Dewey, who was adding a couple action figures to the duffle bag, just about ready to zip it up. He looked back at Malcolm. Suddenly, he remembered how normal moms in the park would react when their kids got hurt. They would pick the kid up and kiss them better and coo at them and stuff. Reese wasn’t gonna coo at anybody, that wasn’t manly. But maybe he could… he crept towards Malcolm slowly, worried eyes tracking over his brother’s shaking hands and arms, and the glimpses he caught between Malcolm’s fingers of his eyes–screwed shut tight– and the way he was cowering against the wall. Reese put a hand on one of Malcolm’s shoulders as it shook from all the bawling, trying to hold him down. Kind of like how he would when they’d fight, but gentler. He crouched right next to Malcolm, bringing his other hand to his leg and doing the same thing- pushing. Malcolm kept crying, breaths shaky.
Just pushing wasn’t gonna work. “You better not tell anyone about this, Dewey,” Reese grumbled. Dewey shook his head that ‘no, I won’t,’ watching Malcolm with worry. Reese sat down next to his little brother–much littler than usual right now– and wrapped his arms around Malcolm. He rested his head on his shoulder and hugged him tightly, trying to encourage him not to breathe like that . It seemed to work a little. Malcolm’s breath hitched once or twice and he didn’t sob again. He sniffled, breathing still very fast but a little quieter.
“You gotta stop breathing like that, Malcolm,” Reese muttered. He could feel Malcolm shaking. Not just his hands, either. It was his hands, arms, legs, shoulders, pretty much his whole body. It made Reese awfully nervous, but he was the biggest one there so he knew he had to act tough. He glanced at Malcolm and seeing tears seeping through his quaking fingers had to look away. Being tough didn’t mean he had to see. He could handle this without looking at it. It hurt too much otherwise. “Mom’s not gonna actually kill you. I’m pretty sure it’s a rule that she can’t. Otherwise she’d go to jail.”
“Yeah, Malcolm,” Dewey piped up. He put the heavy duffle bag on himself and tipped over, falling down.
Reese glanced at him and nudged Malcolm. “Hey, look at Dewey, he fell over. It’s hilarious! Malcolm? Malcolm?”
Malcolm shook his head, still hiding in his hands. He breathed fast and tears leaked from his eyes and he still shook. He didn’t say anything either.
“Malcolm?” Reese asked quietly. He risked another glance at his little brother and still saw tears and eyes screwed shut and fear; thick, tangible fear. He felt like he could almost taste it, and it wasn’t even his. Even though he knew it wouldn’t help, he asked again: “Malcolm?” When he didn’t respond, Reese readjusted his hug and leaned harder on him. He thought for a second. “Malcolm, when mom comes in here I’ll protect you. I’ll keep her away. Okay? I’ll fight mom.”
Malcolm shook his head, garbling, “She’ll crush you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can have Dewey help me. We’ll keep you safe, okay?” Reese was just saying this. He didn’t think mom was going to hurt Malcolm. But he wanted Malcolm to think that whatever he was scared of, Reese would deal with it. He grabbed one of Malcolm’s shaky arms and gave it a squeeze, one that was supposed to be reassuring, not one that was for fights, and looked up at him, searching his face. He still covered it with his hands, tears still dripping from his chin. Malcolm took another shuddering breath.
The bedroom door opened.
“Mom!” Dewey screamed, scrambling off the floor and jumping in front of Reese and Malcolm.
Malcolm gasped in another breath and a fresh round of tears came anew.
Reese looked up at his mother, eyes wide with fear.
Lois stood in the doorframe, makeup done up elegantly, hair still perfect after the evening of torture games, looking utterly puzzled. “What’s going on here?” she asked, voice relatively gentle.
“Malcolm thinks you’re gonna kill him,” Reese said, trying desperately to mediate between mom and Malcolm. He reinforced his grip around his crying brother, hoping to help him calm down.
Dewey stood stony silent, trying to blockade his mother, who was not moving in the slightest, from reaching the other two boys.
Malcolm hiccupped again, hands still hiding his face.
Lois took pause, surveying whether or not this could be some ploy to get the boys the upper hand, but decided that it wasn’t possible. “Malcolm, honey. I’m not going to hurt you.” These words left her mouth and left her feeling icy. No mother should ever have to clarify such a thing, her mind murmurs.
“He thinks you will,” Reese said softly, trying to explain something he didn’t have the vocabulary for. He didn’t move, quite sure that mom wasn’t the threat that Malcolm was scared she was, but he did make sure to squish Malcolm a little better. Maybe that would make him feel safer.
Lois looked down at Dewey. “Dewey, honey, I’m not going to.” She kneeled down to his eye level and stroked his hair. “Mommies don’t do that. Mommies just ground kids and take away candy. Go get dressed, honey, we’re going to go get dinner.”
Dewey nodded, saying simply, “Okay.”
Lois turned to Reese and Malcolm. Reese was focused on trying to calm Malcolm down, squishing him in a hug and rubbing a hand against his arm, but still Malcolm cried. Lois kneeled in front of Malcolm and Reese, sighing. “Does he really think I’m going to actually kill him?” she asked in disbelief.
Reese looked to her with worried eyes. “I, I dunno, I guess so. He came running in, yelling his head off. I thought he was fine until he started crying.”
“You boys don’t like to cry, do you…” she sighed, looking at Malcolm. “Malcolm, I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me please.”
He didn’t, just shaking his head into his hands. He sniffled again.
“He’s really scared, mom. I tried to help, but he won’t calm down.”
“Malcolm, honey. Look at me, please. Are you okay?” Lois asked softly, sitting beside her sons. She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently. “If you look at me and I can see your face, we might be able to talk terms. Favorable terms.”
“Look at her Malcolm,” Reese urged, trying to pull his hand away from his face. Malcolm wouldn’t let him.
“Okay, we can talk like this. This is okay too.” Lois kept her hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a gentle touch. “I’m tired of fighting with you boys, so we’re done for tonight. For this battle, anyway… I give up. It’s my anniversary and I would rather finally go to dinner. You all are coming with me, and I’d like you to get dressed as soon as possible.” She kept her tone gentle, and looked at Malcolm as she spoke.
He was quiet for a minute, sniffling and breathing shakily, and still hid in his hands. But he did speak. “I’m sorry, I know that. I don’t…” He didn’t make much sense at first, but then he tried again, taking a big, shaky breath. “I don’t know why I’m this scared, mom.”
“I must have gotten to you. I’m sorry. How about you come out of your little cocoon and I’ll make things all feel better,” Lois offered in a soft voice, rubbing Malcolm’s shoulder again.
He didn’t move, staying curled up.
“Reese, why don’t you go get dressed. You did a good job helping, but I’ve got him from here.”
“Okay.” Reese hesitantly let go, slowly standing. He couldn’t help but to stare at Malcolm in worry.
“Go ahead, sweetie,” Lois said.
He did, moving to the dresser where Dewey was getting dressed and finding his one nice outfit. He watched from the corner of his eye as Lois picked up Malcolm in a baby’s cradle and lifted him up easily. She stood and carried him to Reese’s bed, where she sat down, cradling him in her lap. He covered up his face until Lois, sitting, gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. Malcolm’s wet face was revealed. His eyes were downcast.
“Want to talk to me, Malcolm?” Lois asked him gently, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
“I…” He sighed, sniffing after. “I don’t know what happened.” He seemed really tired to Reese, who was still watching from the dresser.
Lois nodded, still stroking his cheek.
“I was so busy trying to win and we called Francis, and he said if we didn’t win this one you’d own us for the rest of our lives, so I really thought… I don’t know.” Malcolm brought his hands together, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I just was trying so hard all day not to lose and then you caught us on the phone, and…” He frowned in an agitated way. “I just kind of felt like, my heart, like… it just started beating like crazy, and then I was all scared of what was gonna happen, and I don’t know, I couldn’t even really think. And when I heard Dewey yell, it was just kind of right, so I guess my… I just took it and ran. I really did think I was gonna die. Kinda. I dunno.”
“Sweetie, I'm sorry. You're not going to die. You're off scot-free, actually.” She brushed his hair back gently.
Malcolm frowned, dissatisfied.
“Why don't you get dressed and come to dinner. You can get a dessert. Does that sound okay?” Lois asked softly.
He shrugged and nodded, swiping at the tears on his face with the back of his hand.
Lois patted his face gently with a small smile. “You go get dressed. Ask Reese to help you with a tie.”
Malcolm nodded, shuffling off his mom's lap and ambling tiredly over to his brothers. Reese quietly handed him his suit.
“...and I remember at dinner that you were looking at me the whole time. It was annoying.”
“Well you looked bad. I was just trying to make sure you weren't going to keel over,” Reese said, relaxing into his bed. “Anyways, you pretty much got over it when the ice cream came.”
“It was good ice cream.”
“Are you kidding? It was the best ice cream I'd ever had! Nothing has ever measured up. Ever.”
Malcolm chuckled, and laid down in his own bed. “Didn't know you were such an emotional guy, Reese,” he teased, smirking at him.
“Shut up, Malcolm.” Reese pulled his blankets over himself and pretended for a minute that he was going to sleep. But he had to say it. He flipped over. “You shouldn't joke about that.”
Malcolm turned to look at him, curious.
“I really was worried about you,” Reese mumbled, looking away.
“Thanks, Reese,” Malcolm said softly.
Reese nodded, turning back over. Then he could sleep.