“Solid points.” Owen nods, his dark brown eyes warm as he considers what we’re saying. My stomach goes all fizzy again, but this time I’m not that mad about it. It feels so much better than arguing with Mia did.

“Chances of extraterrestrial life?” I say, smiling at Owen.

“Astronomically high!” he answers.

“I agree,” Mia says.

“That’s boring. You two are supposed to have different opinions,” I say.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re not going to get me to argue against the possibility of aliens,” Mia says.

“Science is pretty clear on the issue,” Owen agrees.

I see the opening. This is my chance to get their take on wormholes. At the very least, I can find out if they believe in them. But right when I’m about to ask, Coach Pearlman calls us back to attention to start round three of the scrimmage.

So I try to stop thinking about wormholes, and instead focus on getting some points. My hand hovers over the buzzer.

After all, answers are always better than questions.

Ten

Quinn

Dear Parker,

The first time you called Cora’s dad “a nasty foreigner,” I froze.

I wanted to think you were kidding. But you weren’t kidding. You even called me a “stupid female” and you kept saying stuff like that over and over again. I never said anything back. I wish I had. I should’ve.

Mom did a couple of times. But then she gave up. I think Dad pretended like he didn’t hear you. I once heard him tell Mom that you were going through “a phase.”

I’m so mad at you, Parker. Sometimes I even hate you. But it’s so scary to hate you.

And I hate being scared all the time.

Your sister,

Quinn

When Mom found out that Dad was going to be home for dinner, she completely changed the meal plan.

“I’m sure Dad would be happy to eat anything,” I’d told her, but she’d insisted on cooking something more special.

“It’s not every day we get to have a real family dinner,” she’d said, pulling out a bag of leafy greens, eggs, and raw beef. She announced her plan to make homemade meatballs and pasta and a fresh salad, and I stopped arguing then because it all sounded delicious.

But now that Dad is here, I’m realizing that it doesn’t matter what is on the menu because it’s hard to have an appetite once the fighting starts. Usually Mom and Dad save their arguments for when they think I’m asleep and can’t hear them, but tonight it’s clear that they don’t care that I’m sitting right in front of their faces.

“So I drove by something interesting today,” Dad says, forking at one of the meatballs. He chews with one side of his mouth and talks out the other. “A beautiful house in Turner’s Point.”

Mom takes a long drink of water and gulps loudly. That swallow is a warning sign, a blinking yellow light, proceed with caution. “I thought you had a busy day. How did you have time to drive all the way out to Turner’s Point?”