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Her eyes darkened. “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Brooks said. “What is wrong with kids these days? If he was my son, I could promise you, he’d regret even thinking of hitting a lady in the face with a ball. I mean, who does that for no reason? Animals. Kids are animals. I told you, George,” she turned to Mr. Brooks, “we should’ve homeschooled.”
Carson’s lips quirked at that, laughter sparkling in his eyes as he met my gaze.
“Yeah, who does that?” I asked, my lips twitching.
“How do you know it was on purpose? That’s a pretty big presumption,” Carson said.
I scoffed. “Puh-lease. Like his aim is that bad. It was going ninety-miles-per-hour right at my face. The opposite direction of the hoop, I might add.”
“Ninety miles an hour, huh? Wow.” Carson widened his eyes comically. “Who is this kid? We need to call some scouts. Hurry, get the manager for the Charlotte Hornets on the phone. This kid could play for the NBA right now.”
I trained my eyes on his face, loading my icy blue laser beams. He thought he was so clever and cute.
“Not funny,” Mr. Brooks said, but he grinned, and his tone said otherwise.
Carson covered his smile with his napkin, and just as I turned to Mrs. Brooks, ready to deliver the final blow, to reveal it was actually him, he said, “Mia, I’m curious. What did you do after the ball hit you?”
I froze, the words on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” I said, then took a small bite of lasagna.
“Some people—Mrs. Parks—for one, might disagree. I think we need the full story here. I sense something is missing. Some other piece of the story.” He folded his hands under his face, looking completely innocent—he was a counselor gently coaxing their patient.
“I don’t think—”
“Humor us,” he said.
I pursed my lips, hoping the heat radiating off of me might make him spontaneously combust.
“Oh, honey. Did you cry?” Mrs. Brooks reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay if you did. I remember the time I got spiked in the face with a volleyball in junior high. Brought instant tears to my eyes. No one will remember tomorrow.”
Carson mashed his lips together, his entire body vibrating with the effort of holding in his laughter, but he failed. He burst out laughing, and even Ethan, next to me, couldn’t help himself. Traitor.
Tiny crystalline tears collected in Carson’s eyes as he struggled to speak. I wouldn’t be surprised if they dropped from his eyes ice-cold like his heart. “Well, did you, Mia? Did you cry? Or did you—"
I slouched down in my chair and kicked him under the table, cutting him off.
“Ow,” he hissed, and I turned up my nose, glancing to Mrs. Brooks.
Poor Mrs. Brooks. She avoided my gaze. Clearly, she thought I was embarrassed because I cried, not because I tried to strangle her son with my bare hands. If I only I would’ve had more time.
I grunted something unintelligible, then loaded lasagna into my mouth, one angry bite at a time. The only thing that made me feel the slightest bit better was when Mrs. Brooks swatted the boys with the salad tongs on the back of the head for still laughing, warning them they’d better eat their supper.
After dinner, Carson cleared the table while Mrs. Brooks wrapped up the leftovers, and I helped Ethan load the dishwasher.
He handed me a rinsed dish, which I placed in the washer. “Looking forward to working with Carson?”
I groaned. “That’s like asking me if I’m looking forward to having a tooth pulled. Only there’s no Novocain where Carson’s concerned.”
“Come on. It didn’t look like you two were all that uncomfortable when I found you outside. You were standing pretty close. It actually looked kind of—”
“Like I was trying to keep the contents of my stomach down? Ready for a round two replay of this afternoon in gym class?” I smiled at him sweetly.
He shook his head and laughed. “You two never change. What’ll I do next year without you guys? It’ll be so boring.”
“Transfer high schools for your senior year to Durham?”
“Still hoping to get into Duke?”
“Yep.”
