If We Kiss by Rachel Vail

muttered, as I always do, “Unfortunately.”
    “You can see she’s thrilled about it,” Mom said, instead of telling me not to be rude. “It really is very boring for her down at the Cape over Christmas. Actually, her father and I have been discussing maybe switching holidays, and I could have Charlie over Christmas and he could have her over Thanksgiving . . .”
    “Am I involved in these negotiations at all?” I asked. “Or am I just a geranium you two pass back and forth?”
    Mom smiled at me like a TV mom on a commercial about her rascally kid who has fully recovered from her cough. “You are a geranium.”
    “That would be great, wouldn’t it, kids?” Mr. Lazarus asked his children. “Elizabeth and Charlie should come with us. Don’t you think so?”
    “Yes,” Samantha answered obediently, and smiled sweetly at me. “You could sleep in my room. Kevin and I each have two beds in our rooms. Unless, I mean, I know you’re his friend, but . . .”
    Mr. Lazarus chuckled his deep chuckle. “She’ll stay in your room, sweetheart,” he told his daughter.
    I put on a fake smile and said to my mother, “And where will you be sleeping, Mom?”
    “Well,” she said. “I . . .”
    “Interesting question,” Kevin said.
    I was too furious with my mother to thank him for the compliment.
    “She could have my room,” said Mr. Lazarus. “And I would bunk in with Kevin. Of course.”
    “Of course,” Mom said. “Well, let’s take it slow and think this through. It’s a very nice invitation. Thank you, Joe. There’s a lot to consider and it’s just an idea. . . .”
    The band, by then, had wandered over to our table. They started playing the “Mexican Hat Dance.” Really loud. I crossed my arms over my chest and slumped in my chair, grimacing, waiting for these sweaty men to finish blaring their insipid song in my ears. When they did, Mr. Lazarus handed them a tip and they went on to the next table.
    “Think about it,” said Mr. Lazarus. “I bet you would love Vermont, both of you. And we’d love to have you. Right, kids?”
    “Right,” chimed Samantha.
    “Bull,” said Kevin.
    We all stared at him.
    “Kevin,” his father chided.
    “What a load of crap, Dad,” Kevin said. “Why do you have to lie to us? Put on this whole charade, as if you and Elizabeth hadn’t planned this, as if it hadn’t already all been discussed and agreed on by the two of you—as if we ‘kids’ had any say in it at all! Maybe Samantha is naïve enough to fall for that but not me and Charlie.”
    Okay, I had fallen for it, or at least hadn’t been focused on that aspect of the situation, but no way was I opening my mouth and admitting it.
    “Kevin,” his father said. “How about you calm down and we can . . .”
    Kevin stood up. His chair almost smashed into the waitress behind him, who was balancing the tray with all our plates on it. “Calm down, my ass.”
    “Kevin!”
    “For once I would so love,” Kevin said, as the waitress put down his sizzling chicken fajitas, “some honesty. Everyone always makes excuses and hides behind convenient little stories—why doesn’t anybody just stand up and say this is what I want, or this is what I think? Everybody is so . . .”
    “So . . . what?” Mr. Lazarus asked, his smile hardening slightly.
    “So compromised.”
    “Sit down, please, Kev, and eat your dinner.”
    He shoved his chair toward the table. “Come on, Charlie.”
    I had a barbecued rib in my mouth. I put it down, chewed quickly while wiping my mouth on my napkin, grabbed my bag, and followed him out. I was mad, too. I didn’t even say excuse me as I left.
    We stomped across the parking lot. There was a Dumpster there, which Kevin punched. It was very loud and left a slight dent. He turned his back to me. I wasn’t sure if I should ask if he was all right or if I should wait silently or go back to the restaurant alone.
    “I don’t even care if he and she are, you know.”
    I