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“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 on 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 family 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 a bright shade of 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 Mr. Bell, 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.”
“Thewhat?” Ethan asked, looking amused.
Across the table, Carson sneered and mouthed,Dork.
Mr. Brooks frowned. “On purpose?”
“Yeah.”
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 Cavaliers or the Celtics 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 actuallyhim, 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.
