Little Goat Mountain hitchhiking

Brother watches with hawk-like eyes, and the descent of unease does not seem to leave her alone.
Why is he staring? What does he want?
Who was this? Creature, this creature who she cannot seem to escape from; the others along with him who cram their lowly den like sardines. Eyes that slam open and shut, always over her back, always watching, always always always watching—
Stop staring stop staring stop staring at me!
Car alarms blare inside her ears, sirens, sirens, piercing her very core as she begins to tremble, and never do her eyes move from this brother. Head tilted birdlike, Feathersoft hackles bristled in a fine-tipped raise.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
But the longer she sits with it, this discomfort she is much too young to comprehend, this primal spiral over seeing her own face in someone else and knowing his eyes follow; the longer it festers, the more okay she becomes with its presence within her. Her eyes soften to a squint.
Brother.