“Too bad, Carrot-Top,” said John. He gave my sister a small smile, so few and far in between, and sort of mischievous. “They’re all the same,” said Connor, now looking especially bored. Lyn threw a fried noodle at John’s face. He tilted his head slightly to catch it in his mouth. Lyn’s bright green eyes narrowed; she chucked handfuls at him. This time John had to cover his face against the blows. “Hey!” I said, quickly looking around to see if the waiter had seen us. Then I let my voice drop. “Let’s not get kicked out. You guys bicker like an old, married couple.” This really set them off. Lyn especially. Flustered, she squeezed her way around me. Said something like, “Bathroom. Order for me.” John reached for the bottle of hot sauce at the table behind him. I gave him a stern look. My light blue eyes probably flashed a sliver of silver. “Yes?” He poured and then stirred in hot sauce in his glass of water. The glasses were all opaque… At last Connor had some interest. One couple complained that they didn’t have any hot sauce. It was just then that Lyn finally took a sip of her uh…Chinese water. She did a spit-take, right out in the aisle, and began coughing. Drinking more water didn’t help. Heads turned to us. I stiffened, but I felt Connor’s hand grab mine from underneath the table. The waiter ran over, panicked, prepared to give the Heimlich if necessary. Luckily, it wasn’t. “It’s…all right…I just…swallowed it wrong…” she coughed between words. John must have switched his glass with Lyn’s. In those dark eyes I could see he was laughing. “So what made you choke?” asked Connor, smirking at Lyn. “The hot sauce or the fact that you and John just kissed? That was his cup you know.” At this, John spit out his own water. But he didn’t say anything, and Lyn spoke for them both. “Eeeeew! Scottie!!!” said Lyn, using an old nickname of John’s that had stuck. “That wasn’t a kiss! We just drank from the same glass! We probably didn’t even drink out of the same side!” “In Japan it’s considered an indirect kiss,” said Connor. “This isn’t Japan!” Lyn cried, banging her fist on the table. The glasses rattled. “It’s America!” “No way. We’re in a Japanese restaurant.”
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