“What kind of four-year-old has never tasted Coke?” I accused, throwing my arms in the air. “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” I put a hand on Luna’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t shake it off. She didn’t. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? She shouldn’t have it every day, or even every week—agreed. But not, like, ever? Why? Soda is awesome. It’s sweet and it fizzles in your mouth and it makes you feel happy. Right, Luna?” I nudged her. She nodded vehemently, and now it was Trent’s turn to stare at me, bewildered.
