He jumps on his bed, jumps from it to the twin his little brothers sleep on, bounces back and forth between them. The little fuckers must be up already. Up and outside, fighting with each other and talking back to their mom. Little pieces of shit.

Alexandra opens the door.

– Turn it down!

He bounces high off the bed and lands in front of her, smiling and jumping up and down.

– What?

– Turn it down, Hector, it’s awful! Turn it down.

He pogos higher, arms plastered to his sides, leaping.

– Turn it up?

– Down! Down!

– Louder?

– Heeeectoooor! Stooooop iiiiiiit! It’s awwwwwfuuuuuul!

He grabs her hands and drags her into his room, pulls her up on the bed and bounces.

– Dance, mija, dance to the music!

She tries to jerk free.

– Noooo, it’s not dancing! It’s not music! It’s awful!

He wraps his arms around her, bouncing, laughing.

– Dance with me, little sister.

– Moooooom! Muuuuuhhoooooom!

But she’s jumping with him now, her perfectly blownout hair mussed, her sharply creased khakis wrinkled, heavy eye liner smeared by tears as she laughs at her crazy big brother.

He lets her go and they jump up and down on the bed.

Their mom comes in.

– Mijo!

He flies off the bed and crashes off the wall, the record skips once, plays on.

He dances.

His mom puts her hands on his shoulders and tries to push him down, to stop the bouncing.

– Mijo! So loud! So loud!

But she can’t stop him. She’s laughing.

– Mijo, no, it’s too early. Come eat breakfast. Turn it off! Come eat.

He bounces to the turntable, lands, thrashes his head back and forth at the end of the song and takes the needle off the record, becoming still.