The heavy door between the garage and the kitchen clicked open.

Brent stood on the wooden step, lit up by the bright light behind him.

His black gaming headset was hanging around his neck, and he rapped his knuckles twice on the door frame.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked me.

“Going through some old high school papers,” I said, sliding a thick binder over the top of the manila envelopes.

“You’re making noise while I’m streaming,” Brent said.