Ethan's POV
“Alright,” I began, my voice low and strained, pushing aside a crumpled napkin that smelled vaguely of stale beer.
“Screaming isn't going to clean this house. We need a plan. And we need one now.” I slammed my hand lightly on the table, the small thump echoing in the tense silence. “He could be here in thirty minutes, an hour maximum. If he walks into this… this abomination,” I gestured vaguely at the living room beyond, “we are going to be grounded for the rest of our lives. No, worse. He’ll send us to military school.”
Vicky whimpered, her face paling.
“Don’t even joke about that, Ethan.”
Becky, however, remained remarkably composed. She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond me.
Her brain was already whirring, I could tell. Beck
