Page 93 of Oh, Flutz!

“I would pay to see her and Dad in a room together.”

“No need to pay, Bry, just show up and bring her along with you.”

Okay, this is probably the worst idea in the world, but there’s no harm in asking, right? Especially since I’m sure she has better things to do with her holiday than spend even more time with me. “Okay. Fine. But I get the sweet potatoes with the most marshmallows. And don’t eat all the pie before I get there!” I shout into the phone, but Alexandra’s already cackled in glee and hung up.

“What did Sasha want?”

I jump out of my skin at the sound of Katya directly behind me. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Now you know how it feels for me every day.” She nudges me. “So? Why are you so excited?”

“I don’t know if ‘excited’ is really the right word. It’s more of a,if I go down, you’re going down with mekind of thing.”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, really?”

I know exactly what I have to do. I crank out the puppy eyes. “Pleeeaase? Please will you come with me to my parents’ for Thanksgiving so I’m not the only one getting eviscerated?”

“Oh, so that’s what you two were doing, planning how you’d guilt me into dinner?”

I stick out my bottom lip even more, brows coming together pathetically, and Katya shrieks, covering her eyes.

“Enough! Fine, I’ll come! It’s not like I have anything better to do, I was just going to sit home with Lian and eat takeout. Your mother is a good cook at least, no?”

I snort. That’s exactly how I would word it.At least.“She makes the best damn pumpkin pie in the county.”

“Is it better than her red velvet cake?”

Hmm. That’s a conundrum the likes of which I’ve never encountered. I tilt my head to the side in thought, tapping my chin. “Hm. I don’t think it’s fair to compare them, because we only get the pie once a year, but they’re both spectacular.”

Katya rolls her eyes. “Sold.”

The dining room hasn’tbeen this full of people in ages, with this many people laughing and talking.

Alexandra will have friends over every now and then, but my parents never come in, and I usually stick to the living room so they don’t get annoyed. Sofi and Eleni love to make fun of me, and Emma had a massive crush on me last time I checked, so I steer clear of all of them unless they need something.

Now, though, I’m the one with someone over, and it’s not nearly as awkward as it could’ve been. Mom’s been fangirling over Katya for the last hour, and Katya’s been struggling to get used to how aggressive she can get when she’s trying to get people to eat more.

“This is insane,” Katya blurts to me, clutching at her stomach. Mom is busy carving the turkey while Dad watches wistfully—he hasn’t done it in years. He can’t reach high enough over.

“Told you, you should’ve worn stretchy pants.” I’d just grinned. “Welcome to American Thanksgiving. You’ve officially been broken in.”

I’m thinking to myself how impressive it is that we’ve made it—I check my watch—seventy-eight minutes without someone storming out of the room.Jinx.

Mom finishes carving and starts cutting her food into tiny little pieces the way she always does. “Katya, I hope Bryan hasn’t been giving you too much trouble. I know the difference in skill level must’ve been hard to get adjusted to at first.”

Katya nearly chokes on her water. “Um…” She flicks her eyes over to me, and I smile, not even bothering to hide from my face the familiar souring feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a trick question,” I tell her, and my mom just smiles, oblivious to the fact that my hand is clenched a little too tightly around my fork.

“Well, you’re not totally wrong,” Katya begins, and I can see her trying to figure out what to say. “It was very hard at first, but not because he couldn’t do all the jumps that I could. That was just a piece of it. We both had to learn a lot of new elements, and more importantly, how to work together well enough to get the job done.”

My dad actually looks almost approving.

“We’re grateful to you, Katya. Who knows what Bryan would’ve done if you hadn’t appeared at the perfect time.” He says it like he’s joking, at least, or I think so. Dad reaches over to clap me on the shoulder, which I can’t remember the last time he’s done. It’s so jarring, so gratifying, that I almost miss what comes next.

“We’ve known for a long time that I wasn’t going to have to worry about calling up my old professors at MIT when the time came, if you know what I mean.”

I freeze.

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