Fourteen
When I get back to the booth, Stella is making googly eyes at Xander—and he’s making them right back at her—in one corner. Phoebe and Griffin are snuggling together in the other corner. I take my seat across from Troy and grab my ice cream back.
“Hey, you ate some,” I accuse, inspecting the decidedly smaller scoop on top.
His eyes widen. “It was melting.”
“I thought your taste buds were still cursed.”
“They’re . . .” He half smirks even as his cheeks flame bright pink. “Not anymore.”
I scowl, but decide that I’m in too good of a mood to pursue my usual plan of attack.
“So what did Damian want?” Phoebe asks, drawing her gaze away from Griffin.
I tell them what the headmaster said about my parents coming tomorrow and Griffin asking the gods for a favor—and leave out the part
