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hear Kaci asking someone to pass the peas.
    She’s here, too.
    “Sounds great,” I say, putting on my best fake smile. “What’s for dinner?”
    “Steak, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, rolls, and plenty of salad.”
    “My favorite foods all in one place.”
    She leads me into the dining room, where Brody, Kaci, and Mr. Martin are sitting and eating. Kaci and Brody stare at us like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.
    Brody’s dad, a big guy with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses, jumps up and holds out his huge hand. “Campbell Elliot, you rascal!”
    I shake his hand as he pumps my arm ferociously.
    “Hey, Mr. Martin,” I say.
    Brody’s dad gives me a hard pat on the back. “You look like you’ve put on some muscle.” He turns to Brody. “Doesn’t this guy look like he’s put on some muscle?”
    Brody doesn’t answer, just stares down at his plate and moves his mashed potatoes around.
    Mr. Martin doesn’t seem to notice. “Where’ve you been, Campbell?”
    “I—uh—well you know…school’s getting busy and football…”
    “Sit down, sit down,” Mr. Martin says. Brody’s mom sets a plate in front of me and Brody’s dad slaps a big piece of steak down onto it.
    Now I’m sitting across from Kaci and Brody.
    Kaci’s eyes narrow slightly as she watches me. “Why didn’t you text someone to let us know you were coming by?”
    “Brody used to tell me I could drop in anytime,” I tell Kaci, “and I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
    “Really?” Brody says. His hand is frozen in place, holding a fork that’s spearing a piece of steak. He’s hardly moved since I came in to the room.
    “Yeah,” I say. “Really.” I take a bite of mashed potatoes. “Delicious, Mrs.
    Martin. Your cooking is the best—just don’t tell my mom I said that.”
    Mrs. Martin blushes a little and thanks me. Brody and Kaci can hardly contain their disgust, but their parents seem merrily oblivious to the tension between me and their children.
    We spend the next few minutes talking about school in a generic way: football, which teachers are tough, which ones are nice. It’s like a play or something, and I get so lost in my performance that for a moment I almost believe we’re all still friends and nothing weird is happening in Santa Anna.
    As dinner winds down, Kaci suddenly stands up. “I’m going to Vicki’s,” she announces. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”
    Brody gives her a sidelong glance but doesn’t comment.
    I’m a little surprised. I figured there’d be no way Kaci would let me have any alone time with Brody.
    Mrs. Martin sighs. “I really wish you’d tell me these things in advance, Kaci.
    We’ve discussed this before.”
    “I’m sorry,” Kaci says. “I swear, I won’t even be that long. A couple hours at the most.”
    Mr. Martin shakes his head. “Just let her go already.” He slaps another helping of potatoes onto my plate. “Growing boy like you needs fuel!” he announces.
    “Fine, Kaci,” her mother says wearily. “Fine. Go. Go.” She mumbles something about kids these days not realizing the importance of family time.
    Kaci smiles sweetly, kisses her parents on the cheek, and then flits out of the room.
    Mrs. Martin begins clearing the table.
    “Let us handle this, mom,” Brody says.
    “Really?” She seems surprised. Figures. Brody probably never offers to help around the house. He’s probably always making his mom do all the work while he spends his time plotting ways to steal my girlfriend.
    “Yeah,” Brody says. “You and dad go watch some TV or something. We got this.”
    “Definitely,” I say, standing up and taking the plates out of Mrs. Martin’s hands.
    “You made dinner, the least we can do is clean up.”
    Mr. Martin pats my shoulder. “You need to stop being such a stranger, Campbell.”
    The parents leave and the television goes on in the other room.
    Brody stands up and begins clearing plates. “Don’t just stand there. Help me