Lena sulks at one end of the table, arms crossed, eyes on her dinner plate. She’s smack-dab in the middle of what will probably be her most awkward years—years I remember well. Her features haven’t quite settled into her face—everything looks just slightly out of place. Her thick eyebrows slouch downward over dark brown eyes she must have gotten from her father, while the lower half of her face obviously comes from her mother’s side. Everyone at the table—besides me—has the exact same nose.

It is clear that this dinner is a special kind of torture for her.

She stabs her lasagna while avoiding all attempts to include her in the conversation.

“Lena is a big reader,” Lauren says. “Practically came out with a book in her hand.”

Lena grimaces but doesn’t say anything.

“The two of us have always been at about the same reading level,” Gabe says. “When she was little, she would read me stories before bed.”

He’s joking, of course, but Lena doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“What kind of stories are your favorite?” I ask, not really expecting a response.

Sure enough, I don’t even get a blink.

“Sometimes people send me copies of books they want me to read,” I say. “Before they’re released. I could send you a few, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that is so generous of you,” Elizabeth says. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Lena?”

“We own a bookstore,” Lena says.

It might have been funny if it wasn’t so awkward.

The only living creature at the table she devotes any warmth to is Teddy, who has settled herself at Lena’s side, licking her arm, as if to say “you’re okay.” Or perhaps Lena dipped her elbow in bacon grease just before coming to dinner.

“Gabe says that you’re working on a novel,” Lauren says to me.

“Not quite,” I say. “I’m still mostly doing nonfiction.”

“She’s extremely talented,” Gabe says. “She could write whatever she wanted.”

I can feel a blush spread upward from my chest.

“Gabe,” his mother says. “You’re embarrassing the poor girl.”

“Oh, I know,” he says.

He holds my gaze while he takes a big bite of lasagna, grin affixed to his face. I roll my eyes, but the heat lingers.

I catch a knowing glance being exchanged between Lauren and Elizabeth. They’ve been nice, so nice to me. I like them.

Like with Ollie, I’m worried I’m going to disappoint them.

It isn’t until we’re halfway into our meal, and I’ve just put a very large forkful of very good lasagna into my mouth, that Lena says something directly to me.

“I know who you are,” she says.

It’s an accusation.

“Lena,” Gabe says.

“What?” She shoots him the look that all teenagers have in their arsenal.