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“Is that Kikki?” Dad calls from the kitchen.
“Ah, yeah,” I call back, letting Parker follow me inside.
Without any further warning, Dad sashays his way into the hallway, boogying toward us.
“Dad,” I whine.
Parker laughs at my dad’s dance moves and waves. “Hi, Mr. Green.”
“Parker!” Dad cheers. “Long time no see. Damona, Parker’s here.”
“Parker?” Mom calls over the top of the music.
When she makes her way into the hallway, I cringe. “Guys, can you cut the music?”
“Why would we do that?” Dad says, snapping his fingers as he twists to the beat. “It’s Friday afternoon. Work’s done for the week. Plus, you two should be celebrating. No school for a whole week.”
“I hope you’re a fan of old school pop,” Mom says, patting Parker’s arm. “There’s always music pumping in this house.”
Parker turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“Just don’t dare try to change the music while Kikki’s baking,” Dad jokes. “When she’s baking, it’s her way or the highway.”
“Kikki?” Parker questions.
I cover my eyes. “Oh boy.”
Dad clutches my hand in an attempt to make me do the twist with him. “Yes, that’s right. Kikki.”
“Dad, stop,” I whine.
“Oh, stop acting embarrassed,” Mom teases, swatting a hand. “Parker doesn’t care if you dance in your own home.”
Umm, this is high school. Anything can and will be used against you.
“Well, I happen to think this song is a banger,” Parker says, bopping in place.
“Excellent,” Dad says, spinning on his heels. “Come join us in the kitchen.”
As he and Mom shimmy toward the kitchen, I wince at Parker. “Sorry about them.”
Parker laughs. “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen a pair of parents more happy and carefree.”
“You’re not just saying that, and then text everyone about what happened here?”
“And why would I do that, Kikki?”
I hiss. “Don’t call me that.”
Parker smirks and runs a thumb along my jaw. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t leave this house,” I warn. “Even Josie doesn’t call me it, because she knows I’m not the same person outside of my home.”
Parker’s hands land on his hips and his gaze wanders the deserted hallway. “And who are you at home?”
I shrug, dumping my bag in the foyer. “Someone who’s not scared.”
“Ok then,” Parker says, stepping into the hallway.
