Dan tried, because Dan always tried.
“So, Lizie. How long have you and Sam been friends?”
A small shrug. Her eyes stayed low. “Since last year.”
Sam jumped in before the silence could grow. “We have gym together. Lizie’s the only one who can run the mile without complaining.”
The tiniest smile crossed Lizie’s face at that. She reached for her water glass, drank it completely, refilled it from the pitcher, and drank again. Her hands were not entirely steady.
I looked at the food on the table and then at the two girls and did the math for the second time that evening: less chicken, more rice, split differently. Nobody would notice.
Dan kept trying with the conversation.
“How’s algebra treating you both?”
Sam rolled her eyes with the theatrical commitment that only teenagers achieve. “Dad. Nobody likes algebra. And nobody talks about algebra at the dinner table.”
Lizie’s voice came out soft. “I like it. I like patterns.”
Sam smirked. “Yeah, you’re the only one in our class.”
Dan chuckled. “I could’ve used you during tax season, Lizie. Sam nearly cost us our refund.”
“Dad!”
