Page 36

I hate sitting on the ground.

I hate grass and dirt.

I also hate blankets that refuse to stay flat. The blanket wrinkles beneath me and I smooth it.

Then the edge.

Then the pink satin napkin.

Then the corner nearest my plate.

Then my fork.

Then my knife.

The glass.

The tiny rose’s centerpiece that’s leaning approximately three degrees to the left.

There.

Much better.

Only when everything is perfectly aligned do I finally look up and find Mom watching me with a soft smile on her face.

“What?”

“You are just too adorable, Artemis.”

I blink.

Adorable?

Um, no.

“I told a kid Santa didn’t exist and made her cry for three whole hours.”

“You did. The little bully deserved it, though.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“That makes you even more adorable.”

“You had me evaluated for psychopathy.”

Mother nods seriously.

Then says, “Still adorable.”

I let out a long sigh and surrender.

“You love me too much, Mother.”

“Blasphemy.” She presses a hand dramatically over her heart, looking genuinely offended.

A tiny smile slips onto my face before I can stop it. So I try to conceal it by reaching for a piece of watermelon but I immediately regret it. It’s texture looks questionable and the seeds are visible.

Gross.