It isn’t the first time I’ve wrestled my brother into a coat and tie. ‘Jesus, Jacob, cut it out before you give me a black eye,’ I mutter, holding his hands pinned over his head and straddling his body, which twists like a fish that’s suddenly found itself on a dock. My mother is working her hardest to make a knot in his tie, but Jacob’s thrashing so much that it’s practically a noose. ‘Do you really need to button it?’ I yell, but I doubt she can hear me. Jacob’s got us beat in sheer decibels. I bet the neighbors can hear him, and I wonder what they think. Probably that we’re sticking pins in
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