I spent most of lunch prodding my food with a fork. I wasn’t even sure what it was. This was partly because I had the focus of a gnat who had discovered the human curse of self-awareness, and partly because it really was an indecipherable mass of slop. I think it was a casserole.

“Why so glum?” said Wynezra.

“Huh?” I said, snapping out of myself. “I’m not glum.”

I forced a fake smile as proof. Mostly, it just looked like I was showing her all of my teeth, even the molars, which was probably frightening.

“You are not a good liar,” said Wynezra. “Pro tip: Don’t be a lawyer when you grow up. Literally, be anything but a lawyer. Or a professional poker player.”

Now I just felt sick to my stomach. I crumpled in on myself, just to make the pain go away.

It wasn’t working.

“Man, what happened?” said Wynezra. “Yesterday, you couldn’t shut up about that sleepover. Now I actually miss you talking! Have I ever missed you talking? God, I must be having a crisis.”

“I’ve secretly been meeting with your dad, and now he wants you to move with him to Switzerland,” I sort of blurted out. And then my eyes went wide, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. Crap.

Wynezra had casually been shoveling Mystery Casserole X into her face. She halted mid-shovel, inches from her mouth.

Her hand—with the fork, with the casserole slop in its tines—wavered midair, like a reed in the wetlands.

“Sorry,” I offered as an afterthought.

Wynezra’s fork fell out of her limp fingers. Metal clanged, and slop splattered in a swift, chunky line across the table, like entrails.

Then she shot up from her seat. Her balled-up fists slammed down hard and fast and furious.

“What the fuck are you telling me, Ezra?” said Wynezra.

“Sorry,” I said again. I probably couldn’t say that enough, but it couldn’t hurt to emphasize. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help? How the fuck is this helping?”

“I was just trying to… to fix…”

“Fix?”

“… fix your relationship with…”

“My relationship?”

“I mean, he’s your dad!” I exclaimed, sort of helplessly.

“Who the hell do you think you are? There’s nothing to fix. There is no relationship. That’s the man who murdered my mom. He almost murdered me! And you think there’s a relationship to fix there?”

“Oh, c’mon, he didn’t murder—”

“RECKLESS. HOMICIDE,” Wynezra screamed. “That’s what he was charged with. According to the law, THAT IS MURDER.”

I bit my lip. I really wasn’t in a position to defend myself.