“And it doesn’t make you angry,” I said. “Not even a little.” His hands slowed down and his face turned thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “When they spoil my broccoli.” I blinked. “Broccoli?” “I love broccoli,” Irwin said, looking up at me, his expression serious. “Kid,” I said, smiling, “no one loves broccoli. No one even likes broccoli. All the grown-ups just agree to lie about it so that we can make kids eat it, in vengeance for what our parents did to us.” “Well, I love broccoli,” Irwin said, his jaw set.
