“Wee-ooh, wee-ooh,” I intone like a warning siren after he accidentally kicks a dozen tongue depressors out of line. I pretend my fingers are missiles, launching in retaliation for the border violation. My index fingers loop and spin to the crude sounds of rocket thrust before taking aim at his nose. They halt an inch before contact, frozen by the glare he’s leveled at me. His brows are pinched together, forming an angry line down the middle of his forehead. I cower. “All’s forgiven,” I say with a shrug and a half-smile. “I’ll just straighten those out again.” Note to self: Lucas is not in the
...more
