Always Never Yours(66)

Ha! I’m going to like Sam.

“It’s Cosima,” I hear Owen exasperatedly correct him. The door swings open, revealing Owen, his ears their natural shade of red, and a small boy with spiked hair, Owen-y features, and a Minecraft T-shirt. “Very sorry about my brother,” Owen says emphatically, then glances behind me, his lips forming a light smile. “You hang out outside my house often?”

I stride inside, refusing to be embarrassed. “Hey, this is a nice street. Good lighting, great, um—trees.”

His grin widens knowingly. “If I’d known how much you liked the trees, I would have invited you over more often.” He leads me toward the kitchen. “You know you’re welcome whenever,” he adds after a moment, his voice gentler this time.

In the kitchen, he grabs a striped apron and throws it over his head.

“You’re making dinner?” I don’t hide my surprise.

He stirs something on a pot on the stove. “Yeah, spaghetti. It’s Sam’s favorite.”

“No, it’s not!” Sam bellows from the other room.

Owen chuckles, and I realize they’ve had this conversation before. “It’s his favorite of the things I can make,” he explains to me, “which consists of spaghetti and spaghetti.” Sam wanders into the kitchen, and Owen points the spoon at me. “Sam, this is my friend Megan. She’s going to have dinner with us.”

I face Sam, about to give him a wave hello, but he marches right up to me and sticks his hand out. “Nice to meet you,” he says formally, shaking my hand in a small but impressive death grip.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I reply. “For your information, no grandmas have ever worn my clothes.”

He squints at me. “You sure about that?”

“Sam,” Owen warns.

“It’s okay.” I laugh. “He said I’m prettier than Cosmo, so we’re cool.” I glance at Owen, waiting to see how he’ll contend with that, whether he’ll defend his girlfriend or put his guest down. I consider it a victory when he wordlessly turns back to the stove and spoons pasta onto the plates.

He carries one into the dining room and places it on the small, scuffed table. Sam clambers into his seat, and I sit down opposite him while Owen returns with the other two plates.

“You’re in Owen’s play, right?” Sam asks between bites.

My mouth full, Owen replies for me. “Megan’s the lead. She’s the main character,” he clarifies.

Sam’s eyes widen, and he looks at me with new respect. “You’re Juliet?”

“You know Romeo and Juliet?” I ask, intrigued. Apparently, a penchant for theater is an Okita family trait.

“Owen told me,” Sam answers proudly. “He said it’s about this girl who’s like the coolest, most beautiful girl everyone’s ever seen, and blah blah blah, and she likes some guy, and then everybody dies.”

I smile at Owen, not overlooking the adjectives in Sam’s summary. “What a deft Shakespearean commentary,” I say, still looking at Owen. Then I raise an eyebrow at Sam. “Do you think I’ll be a good Juliet?”

Sam shrugs. “Owen says you’re, like, perfect.”

I turn back to Owen, unable to restrain myself from wondering what else he’s said about . . . my performance. But before I have the chance to ask, he’s leaning over to ruffle his brother’s hair. Sam yelps and swats him away, indignant that Owen’s messing up his gelled spikes.

“How’d your spelling test go?” Owen asks, withdrawing his hand.

Sam groans, clearly having already forgotten his brother’s infraction. “Ninety-eight percent,” he mutters resentfully.

“What word did you get wrong?” Owen sounds playfully admonishing.

“Lead, the metal!” Sam pounds an emphatic hand on the table.

Owen laughs. “That one really gives you trouble, huh?”

“Well, Owen,” I cut in, “lead’s, like, the hardest word ever.”

The two Okitas face me, Owen’s expression skeptical. “Does that word stump you on your spelling tests, too, Megan?” He’s not quite smirking, but the corner of his mouth is upturned.

“Don’t be a smartass,” I shoot back, then notice Sam’s eyes widen. “Sorry,” I tell him. “For your information, Owen”—I turn back to him—“lead is an inhumanly difficult word. Lead, the metal, is spelled like lead, the verb, which is the present tense of a verb of which the past tense is spelled L-E-D, pronounced led, like the metal, lead,” I finish triumphantly.

Owen’s smiling now, his mouth half-open in an expression of stunned amusement I don’t bother to keep myself from noticing is cute.

“She gets it,” Sam exclaims, throwing out a hand in my direction.

“I stand reeducated,” Owen pronounces, then reaches over to jostle his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, ninety-eight percent is great. Mom’s going to be really proud.”

Sam straightens up in his seat, and I realize he’s somehow finished all of his spaghetti. “Can I stay up tonight to tell her?”

“That depends on if you finish your homework. Quietly, and in your room,” Owen tells him.

Sam hops off his chair and brings his dish into the kitchen. While he’s out of the room, I gesture to where his spotless plate was. “How did he . . . ?” I whisper to Owen.