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“Your father couldn’t handle the games that came out. They were Santa-themed.”

“We’re not five-year-olds,” his dad said. “The Costa family would’ve loved them.” He said this in a mocking tone.

My whole body went even more still with the mention of my last name.

“Dad,” Ryan said in a Not cool voice.

“What?” his dad said. “Have you gone soft? Weren’t you the one who said it looked like a kid designed their decorations?”

I blinked rapidly as my eyes stung.

“I didn’t say that,” Ryan said, but I had a feeling that was exactly what he’d said. Why did I care? Because Ryan had just told me I was creative? But he didn’t mean it. He thought I was creative for a five-year-old, apparently. Well, whatever. The inside of his house looked like it had been decorated by the Ice King. Ryan wouldn’t know what Christmas was all about if it slapped him in the face.

“I’m convinced their house is the reason for the lawsuit. It’s embarrassing.”

“Dad, people love their house,” Ryan said.

“They seem to,” his mom said. “Oh. What’s this?” she asked. “A necklace?”

I froze. She’d no doubt noticed my lit-up necklace where I’d left it on the countertop. My coat. I suddenly remembered it was hanging on the hook next to Ryan’s. If she saw the necklace, was she going to see the coat next?

“Someone was passing them out tonight,” Ryan said, but he didn’t move, still blocking me.

Next a drawer slid open.

“Don’t throw it out,” Ryan said. “I want it.”

“You want it?” his mom asked, confusion in her voice.

“Yes,” he said. “I like it.”

“Well, keep it up in your room then,” she said. Ryan had said his mom wasn’t a fan of clutter. That was apparent.

“So wait,” Ryan said. “Is there officially a lawsuit?”

I tried to get over being offended by everything that had been said up until this point so I could listen for the answer.

“There is,” his dad replied.

“Next year maybe we won’t have to park a mile away,” his mom said.

“Who’s suing?” Ryan asked.

“I can’t talk about that, son. You know that.”

“Your firm has the case, then?” Ryan pressed.

“I couldn’t tell you if we did or didn’t have it. You know that too.”

“Maybe I can intern for this case,” Ryan said. “Do some research? Interviews?”

“Not yet. Another year or so if you get your act together, get a handle on your nerves.”

“Right,” Ryan said, his voice tight.

“Where are your friends?” his dad asked, obviously changing the subject.

“My friends?” Ryan asked. I knew his dad was talking about Golf Cart Guys, but Ryan must’ve been feeling the pressure of me standing behind him because it was obvious his brain didn’t go to those friends. His brain was on me, or at least that’s what I assumed.