Page 10 of We Are the Stars

“As if I’d let you ruin my lunch with your girl cooties.”

Mom raises a brow and stares my father down while grabbing a Reuben without looking. She lifts it to her mouth and licks it right across the entire surface. I hoot with laughter while Fish grins.

“Joke’s on you—that one is Fish’s.”

“Hey! No way! I’d basically be kissing Mom.”

Dad pins my brother with a serious gaze. “Fish, you came from your mom’s vagina. I don’t think you two can get any closer than that.”

Fish covers his ears, screaming, “Ewww!”

“Fish came from Mom’swhere? That’s gross!”

We all freeze as Erik comes skidding into the kitchen, a look of horror on his face. Mom’s stare mirrors his because he’s covered in streaks of mud.

“Just be thankful you didn’t come from there too, kiddo. You’re so lucky these people aren’t your blood.”

“I mean, it’d be nice, but not if it meantthat,” Erik says as he strolls farther into the kitchen as if he doesn’t look like a walking disaster right now. He takes the sandwich Mom licked and loads it onto his plate. All of us try to contain our laughter as he grabs a handful of the fresh mixed veggies Mom has out on the counter and adds them to the mix. “Thanks for lunch, Mom.”

With a smile, he moves to his spot at the table and takes a bite right before we all manage to fall apart at the same time.

“What?” he questions through his mouthful of food.

“Nothing!” Mom hollers before anyone can let Erik in on the secret. He’d force her to make another sandwich, and I’m certain that’s the last thing she wants to do right now.

Erik’s always been fickle with his food. Even when my parents adopted him at two, he had his issues. He can’t have his food touching and healwayshas to have something green on his plate—no matter what. I’ve even witnessed Mom using green food coloring on some of his dishes, anything to appease him. Those have always been his two big stipulations, so we accommodate him. He doesn’t make a fuss about what he eats, onlyhowhe eats it.

We all grab plates, loading up on sandwiches and fresh veggies. I even sneak one of Mom’s fancy sodas from the fridge. She raises a brow as I set it down on the table and promptly steals it back, sticking her tongue out at me in the process. I swear, my parents are the biggest little kids ever sometimes.

“Where’s Brett?” Fish asks.

“Mall,” Erik tells him, his voice full of disdain.

“You don’t like the mall?”

“No,” he tells me, his nose crinkled up. “It’sboring. And there are too many girls there. It’s gross and girls are—”

“Hey, whoa. What’s the family motto?”

Erik sighs. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, say it to Fish.”

“Why is thatstillthe family motto?” Fish complains.

Dad chuckles. “Because it’sstillfunny.”

When I was six and Fish was eight,Finding Nemowas released. While that doesn’t sound like a big deal—other than the fact that it’s one of the greatest movies ever, of course—it was for Fish.

See, his given name is Nemo. It’s a unique name on its own, but add in a huge blockbuster film targeted to children and you have a recipe that calls for torture from his peers. Fish caughtsomuch hell for it. After coming home crying every night for a week straight, he declared we needed to legally change his name. We didn’t, but we did start calling him Fish. At first, he hated it as much as Nemo, saying we were the “meanest family ever” and that we “never say anything nice” to him, but eventually it stuck, and so did the “family moto”.

“Erik,” Mom says, “care to explain why you’re covered in mud?”

He shrugs like this is normal for him. “I was making a mud pit with Brett.”

“I thought you and Brett weren’t talking this week.”

“Mom, it’s Saturday. It’s a new week.”

Mom smiles deviously. “Does that mean your weekly chores start over today as well?”

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