Page 57 of The One
“Ack.”
“Green?”
“Ugh.”
I shook my head. “I give up. Tell me about school. How’s your teacher? How are your classmates? No one’s giving you a hard time, are they?”
“School”—she wiggled in her seat with a huge smile—“it’s all kinds of awesome-blossom. My teacher is named Miss Lark, and I love her. She’s extra pretty.”
“Yeah?”
“And she also loves the color pink, and she listens to Taylor. Like, how cool is that?”
“Taylor?”
“Swift, Uncle ’Ett. Youknooowwho Taylor is.”
I laughed. “I was just testing you.” I glanced down at the nail tech as she wiped my toes with cotton, getting ready to paint them. “Do you have a best friend in your class?”
“Yep. We eat lunch together, and she gives me her sandwiches sometimes, like on the days Daddy makes me lunch.” Her eyes went big, and she cupped her hands around her mouth, whispering, “Don’t tell him, okay?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“His sandwiches aren’t like Mommy’s. They’re … jiggly.”
“Jiggly?”
She nodded, more curls bobbing into her eyes. “I don’t know what he does, butewww.” Her nose scrunched, and her little lips curled.
“So, your bestie gives you her sandwich?”
“They’re so yummy, like the ones we get at that sandwich place you sometimes take me to.”
“That’s a really good bestie to have, Daisy. Whatever you do, don’t lose her.”
“She hates bread.” She held up her hands. “She’s a weirdo like that, but I love her to pieces. I give her my crackers. The ones Daddy packs me have these spices on them, and they make my tongue stinky.”
My brother tried his hardest, and he was one hell of a parent, but it sounded like he needed improvement in the packing-lunchdepartment. Which didn’t make much sense, considering we shared a private chef.
“She doesn’t mind having a stinky tongue?” I asked.
She shrugged. “But I hate talking to her for the rest of the day ’cause I can smell the crackers, and”—her jaw dropped further—“it’s so bad that I cringe.”
“Maybe you need to bring your bestie a piece of gum.”
“Ohhh. I didn’t even think of that! One of those big balls from the gumball machine in your theater room. That’s what I’m going to do.” She paused. “Uncle ’Ett, why aren’t there more pink balls in the gumball machine?”
“You ate them all.”
A devilish look came across her face. “I did not!”
“I pulled the camera feed from a few weeks back, and I saw you reaching into the glass and sneaking out all the pink balls. Caught you red-handed, girlie.”
Her lips formed an O. “Yousaaaw?”
“I saw.”
“Am I in trouble?”
