Mia walked into the house and knew it was going to be bad. The smell of Mom’s pasta sauce usually meant good nights, but tonight it just felt heavy. Dad sat at the head of the table already. Jake leaned against the counter, arms crossed, not even pretending to help set plates.
“Sit down,” Dad said. No hello.
Mia dropped her bag by the door and took her usual chair. Her mom brought the big bowl over and sat last. Nobody started eating.
“So,” Dad started, folding his hands. “Jake told us what’s still happening at school. Posters. You two meeting again. We thought after the pregnancy scare and everything blowing up you’d both use your heads.”
Mia poked at her pasta with her fork. “We weren’t doing anything. We were talking. That’s it.”
Jake scoffed. “Talking. Same s**t you said before yo
