Brandon’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. A clump of spaghetti slid off and plopped back onto the plate, splattering sauce on his hoodie.
Sierra’s jaw literally dropped. Her phone wobbled in her hand.
Tracy stared at me like I’d started speaking fluent Martian.
Then, all at once, they laughed.
Brandon snorted so hard he almost choked.
“Good one,” he said, wheezing. “You get that from TikTok?”
Sierra giggled. “Omg, I should totally post that. ‘When your stepsis thinks she owns the house.’”
Tracy’s laugh sounded more like a dying cat. There was a tightness around her eyes. Panic leaking in.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “This is my house and your father’s. We pay the bills. Stop being ridiculous.”
I leaned back in my chair, channeled every movie villain who’d ever delivered a monologue, and smiled.
“Why don’t you call Dad,” I said. “Put him on speaker.”
She grabbed her phone so fast her chair squeaked.
She dialed his number and hit speaker, like she always did when she wanted backup.
The phone rang. Once. Twice.
He picked up, sounding tired.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Mark,” she cooed, fake sweet, “Lucy is saying the house belongs to her. That’s not true, right?”