Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(35)

“Nice.” Nick bobs his head. “Hey. What about me? Can I be in it too? I mean, I’ve got some free time on my hands. I was just put on stress leave.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Apparently I have a tendency toward ‘outbursts.’” He laughs. “Whatever that means.”

Evelyn perks up. “What do you say, Sean? You think there’s a role for my big brother?”

“Uhhh . . . I’m not . . . I mean, I’d have to see. . . .”

Nick stares at me without blinking. It’s the most intimidating stare I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“What am I saying? It’s my script. Of course you can be in the movie . . . somewhere.” I laugh nervously, waiting for the blow to fall. But after another insanely long second, Nick blinks.

“Sweet,” Nick says, puffing up his chest. “I’m gonna be a movie star.”

He and Evelyn practically do little happy dances. Meanwhile, my mind is racing, trying to figure out how I can work both crazy Evelyn and her roided-out brother into the film. Maybe Nick could be one of the humanzees. I wonder if we could get him to wear a monkey costume.

“Dinner!” a woman shouts from inside the house. “Everyone come and get their plates.”

“Homemade pasta,” Nick says. “You must be special. Ma only makes that once or twice a year. You’re in for a real treat, guy.”

Oh, I think I’ve had about as many treats as I can handle for one day.





“THESE ARE DELICIOUS, Mrs. Moss,” I lie, cutting a tiny corner off one of the foot-size raviolis.

Evelyn’s stick-thin bug-eyed mom smiles as she chews. “I’m so glad you like them.”

I don’t know if homemade pasta is supposed to taste this gummy and doughy, but somehow I doubt it. I stare down at the mountain range of raviolis Evelyn has heaped onto my plate and wonder how in the heck I am ever going to plow through them all.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Mrs. Moss adds.

“Oh. I think I’m good for now.” I shift in my seat at the kitchen table, supremely aware of the tiny scratchy tag at the back of my boxer shorts.

“You have any brothers or sisters, Sean?” Nick asks, refilling his water glass.

“Twin sister,” I say. “Not identical. Obviously.” I laugh awkwardly but no one else even cracks a smile. “Oh, and, um, actually, it looks like I’m going to have another brother or sister in a few months. My mom’s pregnant,” I explain.

“Ohhhh, a little bundle of joy,” Mrs. Moss coos. “You must be so excited.”

“Mmm.” I force a smile. “Yeah. Really thrilled.”

Evelyn stares at me. “You didn’t tell me that, Sean. I guess you forgot to mention it.”

Uh-oh. Here we go again.

“Yeah. No. I mean . . .” I shift in my chair again. “We just found out. Today.” The lies just keep flopping from my mouth. “So . . . That’s why, you know, I’m telling you now.”

“So you haven’t told Matt or Coop yet?” she asks, all fake-casual. “Or Valerie and Helen?”

“What? Um. No.” My dang underwear tag is slicing my lower back to bits. “When would I have done that?” Oh, God, I better text them all before she tries to verify this.

“Oh. Okay.” Evelyn pats my arm. “Well, then, congratulations.”

I start breathing again, my clenched-up shoulders relaxing.

We sit in silence for a bit. All the sounds of dinner — the clinking utensils, the slurping of water, the smacky chewing that must be a Moss family trait — seem intensely loud to me.

“So,” Nick finally says, “tell me something. You have a test today?”

At first I’m not sure who he’s talking to, since he seems to be focused on his third helping of ravioli. But then I realize that Evelyn and her mom are looking at me expectantly.

“A test?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah.” He lifts his chin at me. “The writing on your hand. Is that some kind of . . . crib sheet? You’re not a cheater are you, Sean?”

My entire body flushes hot and cold. I grip my left hand tightly around my fork so that nobody can read the breakup notes.

“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “It’s not . . . No . . . It’s private . . . notes for stuff . . .”

Nick narrows his eyes. “You’re not being honest with us, Sean. As a SEAL, I’m trained to tell when someone is being deceptive.”

“What?” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m not . . . being deceptive. Why would I be deceptive?” I reach up and pretend to scratch my nose with my right hand, hoping to take a quick, reassuring sniff of my palm.

“Right there.” Nick slaps the table. “You see that? Scratching his nose. Clearing his throat. Using my words to answer the question. It’s textbook dishonesty.”

“Just because I had an itchy nose?” I drop my hand, suddenly hyper-aware of all my movements. “That’s ridiculous.”

Nick glares at me. “We don’t like cheaters in this family. And we like liars even less.”

“That’s enough, Nick,” Mrs. Moss says. “He said it was private.”

“Private stuff you write in a diary.” Nick leans forward, staring at me. “Crib notes you write on your hand.”