"Hey, kids," I chastised. "Don't yuck someone else's yum."
"That someone else needs to you-know-what, you-know-where." He looked at me sternly. "I'd say all the words, but the potty-word police are in the vicinity." He jerked his head toward Gravity.
After they'd finally taken out all of the pineapple off of the pizza, Flinn plopped two enormous slices on plates and made himself a cup of "grown-up juice" (a.k.a. beer) and apple juice for Grav.
"Grown-up juice" something? Gravity interrupted.
"Emotional numbness."
"Will the emonamiss be delicious to me?" she piped.
"We all do, honey." He chewed thoughtfully. "When you're seventeen, ask Uncle Flinn, and I'll let you sample some of your own beer."
I was frozen in place, under their spell, as both of them deliberately shunned me for ten
