“Fine,” I say. “I’ll just send them to boarding school after they turn four.”

Another vibration makes me squirm. Pops raises a brow. Claudia and Lydia are really the only people I talk to, and they’re both here. I can see the gears in his brain turning.

“I completely tune you out every time you bring this up,” Claudia says. “Because every time you say you want ten kids—”

“Five.”

“I think about that time when we went to see the new Avengers—”

“That’s not fair,” I say. “I was, like, fifteen.”

“It was literally a month ago. I didn’t even know you when you were fifteen.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Lydia says, her voice a smile. “If you can’t handle my little brother blabbering during a movie, I doubt you’ll be able to handle five kids running around every single day. What are you gonna do if you want to watch a movie? You can’t just scream at them like you did at Matt.”

“I was having a rough day,” I say, picking at my hen. “And I’d put them outside. I’m sure they can handle that for a few minutes without dying.”

“Remind me of that the next time you want something from me,” Dad says jovially. “They never told us that locking the door was an option at Dad Camp.”

“I think my parents would do it more, if they could,” Lydia chimes in. “Only, I’m the perfect child. It’s the other one they have to worry about.”

I pull my phone out, the screen flashing with more messages. Technically, we don’t have a rule about phones at dinner. That doesn’t stop me from hiding it under the table like I’m at school.

I’m watching Sweeney Todd and I don’t get why he’s having a shaving competition with this Italian guy. When does he start slicing throats?

I stifle a giggle. Tim Burton’s adaptation of the musical wasn’t bad, but I’m still bitter that he cut the opening number. I don’t know why Miles is watching it, though. It’s not exactly the type of movie you watch by yourself on a Saturday night.

“Something you wanna share with the class, pal?” Pops sounds like he’s teasing, but I know he’s probing.

“I was just thinking about the kid who set off the stink bomb in school,” I say, placing my phone in my lap. For the first time, I’m glad that Pops doesn’t teach at my school. “Did they suspend them yet?”

“I don’t think they figured out who it was,” Claudia says, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “And I hope they don’t. That kid deserves to run wild, pulling something like that off.”

I slip a quick text without looking down: I’ll call you in like an hour.