He runs in, jam bleeding from the corners of his mouth.

Morgan scoops some pasta onto a plate and tops it with sauce and a couple of meatballs. “Here, take your plate,” she says as she hands it to him. She fills three more and we take those to the table and sit down.

Then Rachael bursts into the kitchen dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, her long hair in a damp ponytail. “Did you take my straightener?”

“Um, no.”

That little hesitation — my guess is she’s lying.

“Where is it, then?” Rachael snaps.

“Check in Mom’s bathroom. Maybe she used it. Your dinner’s right here on the table.” Her smile leans crookedly as she points to the plate across from her. That smile makes her look guilty.

Rachael slides into the chair next to me. I tuck my fingers around the fork and spoon to hide my nails.

“Kieran, will you stop playing with your food and start eating?” Rachael scolds.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

I notice him slip a meatball down to Diesel, but I don’t say anything so he won’t get in trouble.

“Have some salad at least,” Rachael tells him.

He just picks at the pasta.

“You love angel hair. Come on, Kieran. Eat something.”

Suddenly, Rachael’s eyes narrow. “What’s that white stuff on your chin?”

He quickly wipes.

“You let him have donuts before dinner,” she says to Morgan. Morgan doesn’t have time to answer. “Of all the stupid things —”

“He only had one,” Morgan says. “Eat up, Kieran. It’s yummy.”

“Nobody’s going to make you anything else later,” Rachael crabs at him. She softens her tone as she turns to me. “You’re Naomi, right?” She nods by way of hello. “Nice nails. I bought some of those flowers myself.”

“Thanks.” I try to hide them around the fork again. Too late, really.

“Who wants more meatballs?” Morgan asks cheerily.

“Hey!” Rachael points at Morgan’s hands. “You’ve got butterflies on your nails.” Dead quiet as all the synapses click inside Rachael’s head. The quiet before a volcano blows. “Those are my decals, aren’t they?” No answer. “Well, aren’t they?” she thunders.

Morgan still doesn’t answer.

Rachael’s face turns fiery. “You took the straightener, too, didn’t you?”

Morgan just smiles. I feel her sister’s irritation under my own skin. Understand it, really. Nobody has to answer her; the truth is in Morgan’s smile.

“You cow.”

“Rawf!” Diesel jumps up.

Gunshot quick, Rachael zings a meatball at Morgan’s head.

Morgan ducks.

The meat is loose! Diesel scuttles after the projectile.

“Go, Diesel!” Kieran calls.

Anticipating the moment Morgan’s head will come back, Rachael launches another one.

It hits Kieran’s cheek and bounces off. “Ow!”

Diesel abandons the meatball on the floor and snaps this one before it lands. Beautiful catch!

“Wow.” Rachael stops her hand in mid-throw of a third one. “That dog is amazing.”

“What did he do?” a woman’s voice asks. I look up from the dog and see Morgan’s mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a couple of bags of groceries in each hand. Tall and pale like Morgan, only with wrinkles instead of freckles, she watches us with similar grey eyes. She walks over to the counter and sets the bags down, wiping at her forehead. “And why are you eating with your hands, Rachael?”