Clyde
“John, please stop at the nearest ice cream shop,” I said, leaning forward slightly in my chair.
“No,” Medora snapped, her voice sharp. “I’m literally wanted. I shouldn’t be having ice cream in public.”
I bit my lip, holding back the urge to argue. “Medora, if something’s wrong, just talk to me. Don’t put on this childish attitude. You’re not a kid.”
“Coming from the kid,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.
I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. Our first fight, and it’s about age? Seriously?
“John, drive us home,” I said quietly, slumping back into my seat.
The tension clung to us the whole ride. As soon as we got back, I headed to the treehouse while Medora disappeared into the main building. I tried distracting myself—cycling through video games, texting my friends
