“I don’t eat sugar.”
My head whipped in her direction, my eyes growing wide. The smiling, relatively happy girl who had been sitting across from me all through dinner was gone, in her place, the sullen, broody kid I’d been dealing with for the better part of a year. “Since when?”
“Since forever,” she exaggerated. “You’d know that if you paid any attention. God!” With that, she whipped her napkin down on the table and shoved back in her chair so hard the legs scraped across the floor loud enough to make me wince.
“Where are you going?” I asked in bewilderment at the sudden and unexpected mood change.
“To the bathroom, if that’s all right with you,” she shouted as she stormed out of the dining room. A second later the bathroom door slammed.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked more to myself than anyone else.
“Ah, teenagers,” Mom lamented. “I don’t miss that age, I tell you.”
“Well, that was interesting,” Dad observed casually. “Now how about that dessert?”