Ella's Twisted Senior Year(38)

“Is that . . . dinner?” I say, sniffing the air. My mouth actually waters and all this time I’d thought that expression was just a joke. Oregano, garlic, and cheese permeates the kitchen. Real cheese, not some low fat, dairy-free cheese substitute.

Ella nods. “Smells like Mom’s famous lasagna. And by famous, I mean it’s about the only fancy meal she can cook. Garlic bread, too.” She squeezes my hand just before we walk into the dining room, where she makes sure to drop it before anyone sees.

Both sets of parents are here tonight in what is the first time we’ve all eaten a meal together since that first night the Lockharts stayed over here. Mr. Lockhart claps me on the shoulder when I sit next to him at the table.

“How you doing, son?”

The question, innocent as it is, has me suddenly unable to speak. Does he know I’m making out with his daughter every night? That I’m crazy about this little girl? Would he kill me if he found out?

“Uh, good,” I croak out. Ella gives me the side-eye. I compose myself and reach for a piece of garlic bread. “How are you?”

He heaves a heavy sigh and takes the bread basket I offer him. “We lost a few people this week. Two were DOA but one I couldn’t resuscitate. So this week sucked.”

“Wow, I’m sorry.”

He waves a hand at me and passes the bread to Ella. “You can only do your best. The rest is fate, you know?”

“That’s why I want nothing to do with helping people as a career,” Ella says, curling her lip. “I’m going to bake cupcakes and whatever the customers do after that is their own thing, not mine.”

She is both sneaky and mean, having chosen a chair directly across from me. Now I can see her beautiful face the whole time but I am unable to do anything about it in front of all these parental witnesses.

My dad takes a seat at the other end of the table. The wrinkles in his forehead are more pronounced than normal and I’ve overheard enough conversations lately to know that he’s stressed at his job. He unwraps the silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. “So, Ethan,” he begins in that voice that means he’s less than pleased with me. Mentally, I run through all of the things I’m supposed to do on a daily basis. Trash has been taken out, the pool chlorinated, grass mowed. My grades are good, so that can only mean . . . “You haven’t been working out much, have you? You’re losing some bulk.”

“I lift weights at school,” I say.

He shakes his head. “But not that home. Son, when football season is over that’s not an excuse to shirk your athletic responsibilities. How are you going to play college ball without dedication?”

I don’t want to play college ball. He knows I won’t argue that point in front of all of these people, and he’s right. “I haven’t worked out at home much because I don’t want to bother Ella in the rec room.” I hope that’s not throwing her under the bus too much.

Dakota laughs and twirls a string bean around her fork. Her eyelids are absolutely covered in sparkly stuff and it makes her look like an evil little sister fairy. “You don’t want to bother Ella? That’s weird, because you’re in there all the time.”

“She makes a good point,” Dad says, nodding toward his younger (and obviously more favorite) child. “Ethan, work out more. Ella, you don’t mind, do you?”

Her mouth is full of food but she shakes her head. “Excellent,” Dad says, like the matter is all solved and perfect now.

So after dinner, I hit the weight bench while Ella watches me from the couch, her expression both cynical and happy. “You don’t have to stare at me.” I say, leaning back against the incline press, my hands on the bar.

“Oh, but I want to. Trust me, I want to,” she says, leaning forward. Her feet hang off the armrest on the couch, dangling carefree while she watches me struggle to lift three-fifty on the bar. “I feel like a total sexist treating you like a piece of meat, but this is really hot.” There’s a gleam in her eye that makes me work harder to impress her even more.

“Your phone’s going off,” she says a few minutes later.

I’m panting, hands on knees, exhausted from the last few reps. “Who is it?”

“It’s a text from Kennedy,” she says, making a gagging sound.

I grab a sweat towel and wipe off my face. “Well, what does it say?”

Her brows shoot up to her hairline. “You want me to read it to you?”

“If you don’t want to, don’t worry about it.” I lean back and prepare for another set.

“It says . . .” She clears her throat and makes her voice all high pitched. “Have you changed your mind yet? along with a handful of stupid emojis.”

“Write back: No. Go away. Never text me again.”

Ella holds the phone down her lap and looks at me. “I can’t say that.”

“Sure you can. You’re being me right now, not yourself.”

Her lips move to the side of her mouth while she types. “Okay, there.”

“What’d you say?” I ask between reps.

“I said: No thanks.”

I groan. My phone beeps again and Ella reads, “It’s just prom, Ethan. Why are you being so annoying about this? Don’t make me ruin you.” She looks up. “Ruin you? What does that even mean? Does she have some evil lair with creepy science experiments to scramble your brain or turn you into a chicken?”