Page 9 of Give Me a Shot

Drop. Blast. Choke.

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Late that evening, luxuriating in the quiet, safe calm that was his home, Mo shifted the small golden pothos back into place on his bookshelf beside the philodendron he’d just repotted. The staticky energy that remained in his body from the open house was now low enough that a regular shower should be sufficient to clear it. He felt that he might be pushing it a little by not repotting the pothos as well, but he didn’t have enough time to do it and clean things up before his brother, Khalil, called him in twenty minutes. He’d just finished rinsing the back deck and was washing his hands when his phone rang. He glanced at the time and rolled his eyes.

Early. Typical Khalil.

Mo finished cleaning up and went into the living room with his phone to call back.

“You said six,” he grumbled when Khalil answered.

Khalil groaned.

“I said around six,” Khalil said.

“It’s still not six now.”

“It’s around six,” Khalil said.

“It’s a quarter to six.”

Khalil sighed, then chuckled.

“You’re lucky I love you so much, man,” he said.

Mo grunted.

“Anyway. I must have made a mistake when I wrote down the day I’m supposed to take Maddie to the orthodontist. I have Thursday, but doesn’t she have coding after school?”

“She does, but that’s the only day we could get for that appointment,” Mo said as he uncrossed the arm not holding the phone and pushed himself up more comfortably on the couch.

“Oh. She’s gonna miss it? Poor kid,” Khalil said.

“Yeah.”

“Also, don’t say no—”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“If you know I’m gonna say no, why are you asking?” Mo asked.

“Because this is something nice for other people and, more important, foryou. And as much as I know that lots of strangers and attention and noise are not the thing for Mr. Highly Sensitive Person, I wouldn’t ask unless the benefit outweighed the overstimulation.”

Mo’s skin crinkled. Khalil very rarely invited him todothingsthat he knew Mo wouldn’t like. As much as he got on Mo’s nerves, he was a good brother and had researched Highly Sensitive People when Mo had told him about it. He’d even suggested Mo try therapy to help him more comfortably live as a neurodiverse person in a neurotypical world. Mo didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of therapy. He’d learned to manage himself. Khalil had respected that choice. If he was even bringing up an event, Mo knew he’d seriously thought about it.

“Fine. What is it?” Mo grumbled.

“Since they couldn’t do anything before the end of last season, the parents of the youth basketball team are planning a thank-you banquet for last year’s sponsors. It’ll just be a little dinner and dance party for the kids on a Saturday evening, and of course you can bring Mads, too,” Khalil said in a rush.

Mo’s skin started itching and his throat got tight. Anticipatory sensory overload was unfortunately a thing. And it did not help that he was still battling the residual overload from the open house.

“We didn’t really sponsor that much,” he said. “And they already said thanks.”

Khalil scoffed. “I saw the check, man,” he said. “I’d want to publicly say thank you for that, too.”

Mo rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that serious, and he hadn’t sent a check anyway. His shop had transferred the money, but that seemed beside the point. Donation amounts should be private. He opened his mouth to say so, but Khalil spoke first.

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