Dad came home, slamming the garage door so hard that the entire house shook.
“Harvey, in the kitchen. Now.”
“Shit.” I trudged out of my room and down the stairs.
My dad’s face was red, and his eyes were open so wide that I thought they would pop out of his face. If there weren’t so much tension in the air, I would’ve laughed. I do that sometimes; I laugh at things that aren’t really funny.
“Are you going to explain yourself?” he asked, staring at me with his huge eyeballs.
“I didn’t do anything, dad.” Okay, this was starting to look really creepy. “I didn’t start the fight, and I didn’t kill Kelsie.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he roared, and I did, reluctantly. “Now, tell me what happened. Every last detail.”
“Okay,” This was going to be good.
I repeated each event, even going into what type of soda had been in the bottle. It was orange-creme, if you’re wondering.
When I was finished, though, he didn’t look any more convinced. “Room,” he muttered.