“Why don’t we get a booth,” Dad counters. “I want to talk to Sam about running.”
Mom takes Dad by the shoulder and directs him away from me and Sam. If it weren’t so humiliating, I might actually laugh. As it is, we do get our table for two.
“So,” Sam says, between spoonsful of hot fudge. “The violin?”
“It lets me think. So does knitting.”
“What do you think about?”
Lately? Sam. Normally? “Well, stories, actually.”
“Stories?”
“I … think them up, work the plot out in my head.” I explain about the graphic novel Caro and I plan to work on during creative storytelling. I even manage to do this without worrying too much about the fact Caro isn’t talking to me.
“A modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet?” Sam grins.
“Yeah, I know. It’s been done, but Caro really wanted to do it.”
“Why not
