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Carson snorted and stepped forward, flicking a lock of my hair, and hovering close to my face like one of those annoying gnats that circle the fruit bowl in the summer. “How cute. You’re still in the boys-have-cooties phase.”
“Not all boys. Just you.”
When Carson laughed in return, and I stuck my tongue out at him, basically proving his point. It was terribly juvenile, and I resented him for reducing me to the level of a grade-schooler.
I flashed Ethan a genuine smile, thankful for his presence. “Hey,” I said, running a hand through my hair, composing myself.
Ethan’s silence spoke volumes as he arched his brow and glanced between us. “Everything okay out here?”
“Yeah. Of course. We were just talking about our project. Everything is perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked, wondering why I couldn’t just shut up.
“That’s funny. I don’t remember us discussing the project just now,” Carson chimed in.
See? Gnat.
“Did I ask you?” I snapped.
“Whatever,” Ethan interrupted our glaring match. “Things are never just fine with you two, but I’m used to it by now. You coming in or what?”
With more force than necessary, I brushed past Ethan and stepped inside, inhaling the scent of sauce and cheese. “Please tell me your mom made her lasagna.”
“You’re in luck.” Ethan placed his hands o
n my shoulders and guided me toward the dining room.
“I’m just going to drop my stuff in my room,” Carson called from behind us, and though I shouldn’t, I felt a little surge of joy that no one seemed to care.
I took my undesignated-designated seat at the table, the one beside Ethan, accepting Mrs. Brooks’ offer of lemonade, and making small talk as she set a giant bowl of tossed salad on the table. After she took her seat next to Mr. Brooks, Carson appeared a moment later and sat directly across from me, his gaze cool on my face.
We said grace, as was customary there, a nice reprieve to the tense silence at my own dinner table, then filled our plates.
I took a bite of lasagna and scarcely avoided moaning in pleasure when Mrs. Brooks glanced over to me, a timid expression on her face. “Mia, honey, I hate to ask this, but I can’t avoid it any longer. What on earth happened to your eye?”
The bite of food turned to mush in my mouth. My probing gaze shot to Carson, who hung his head, staring at his food with the intensity of a neurosurgeon, while Ethan choked on a forkful of salad. “Oh, you didn’t hear?” I asked.
“No.” Mrs. Brooks looked to both of her sons, somehow sensing they had something to do with it.
Ask Carson, I wanted to say. Instead, I narrowed my eyes on him for a moment, and either I imagined it, or his cheeks were turning red.
Interesting. Carson Brooks blushing? That was a first.
“It happened in gym class,” I said, enjoying Carson’s tortured anticipation of me outing him.
I had no idea how the Brooks had not received the same call from Mrs. Parks, but having something to hang over Carson’s head might be kind of fun. For once, I had the upper hand.
Mrs. Brooks put her fork down, her forehead wrinkled in concern. “Did you fall?”
Ethan spluttered beside me, then covered his laughter with his fist.
“Actually, a boy threw a ball at my face. Right here”—I pointed at my eye—“in the orbital and zygomatic bone.”
“The what?” Ethan asked, looking amused.
Across the table, Carson sneered and mouthed, Dork.
Mr. Brooks frowned. “On purpose?”
“Yeah.”
