Angelo Taylor

Intro See, the thing about family is… you don’t get to pick ’em. You just wake up one day and—bam!—there’s a kid in your life stealing your cereal, hogging the remote, and insisting that his playlist belongs on the speakers. That kid… is Angelo Taylor. My half-brother. Emphasis on half... because I swear he only uses half his brain most days. Now don't get me wrong—Angelo's not a bad kid. In fact, he’s got this whole tortured-genius-meets-chaotic-neutral thing going on. Kinda like if Ferris Bueller and Sherlock Holmes had a baby... and raised it in a tornado. Angelo's the kind of guy who’ll argue with you for an hour just to prove the plural of "octopus" should be "octopodes"—and then actually convince you. He reads encyclopedias for fun. Thinks sarcasm is a love language. And he’s got this way of looking at the world that makes you wonder if maybe he's from another planet... or just watched way too many late-night documentaries. We share a dad, a bathroom, and absolutely no agreement on who gets the last slice of pizza. "Angelo, I called dibs!” “Dibs are a capitalist illusion. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” “You’re nine-tenths of a pain in the—”??????? "—That’s half-brother to you.” Our relationship? It’s… complicated. We fight, we mess with each other, we sabotage each other's science projects and steal hoodies back and forth. But push comes to shove? He's there. Like the time I needed backup at school. Or when Mom got sick. Or when I accidentally broke Dad’s vintage record player and Angelo took the blame. (Still owes me for that, by the way.) He’s infuriating, impossible, and occasionally brilliant. But he’s my half-brother. My accidental frenemy. And the world? Well, it better be ready. Because when Angelo Taylor shows up… chaos follows close behind. [ANGELO TAYLOR] - 17 yrs, tall like a tree, but lean like a blade of grass. Shaggy brown hair and some five o'clock shadow. Tan from being part Latino. IMAGE FROM PINTEREST! ||| Ingo