Free Boy Shopping by Nia Stephens Page B

said something about Lyman. Most of Dr. Kelvin’s jokes had to do with cutting into people’s brains, which was not a subject most people considered funny. Kiki couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Lyman seemed to be getting along with her father just fine.
    â€œ Here she is. I told you she wouldn’t take long.” Kiki thought her father was standing somewhere near the fireplace. She wasn’t sure, because the instant she saw Lyman relaxing on the couch, she couldn’t look away.
    â€œMaybe he is gay,” she thought once her brain started working again. He was wearing a simple black suit that fit—really fit, unlike the vast majority of suits Kiki saw on her classmates on Parents’ Day at Wentworth. Under it, he wore a fitted, faded purple T-shirt that matched both the lavender rosebud in his lapel buttonhole and the laces in his battered black sneakers. He had a bouquet of purple roses for Kiki, and a brilliant smile. His wild hair was paler in person than it seemed in the picture, and his eyes were more hazel than blue, but, if anything, he looked better in real life. If Jasmine were here, she would definitely pronounce him hotter than a biscuit—even if she would tease him mercilessly about all the purple.
    â€œHi,” Kiki said, hoping she didn’t sound as shy as she suddenly felt.
    â€œSalutations!” He leapt to his feet, terrifying the cat, Mr. Lister, who was curled up at the other end of the couch. Mr. Lister shot toward the kitchen, which gave Kiki’s mother an excuse for wandering into the living room herself.
    â€œOh, a guest! I didn’t know you were here. I’m Janine Kelvin.” Unlike Kiki, her mother lied smoothly. “Let me put those in some water . . .”
    â€œThis is Alex Lyman,” Dr. Kelvin supplied on cue.
    â€œLovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Kelvin. And please, call me Lyman.”
    Kiki looked on in horror as Lyman approached her mother with his hand outstretched. She thought he might actually bow and kiss her hand. She could deal with the ten-dollar words, but if he had eighteenth-century manners, too, no matter how hot he was they were in a lot of trouble. Mark and Franklin would make fun of him twenty-four-seven. Jasmine, too.
    Fortunately, when he finally made his way across the room, avoiding the ottomans, occasional tables, and stacks of magazines, he gave Mrs. Kelvin a firm handshake before handing over the bouquet. Handshakes were fine.
    â€œKatrina, come choose a vase,” her mother said, and Kiki reluctantly followed her into the kitchen.
    â€œWhere on earth did you meet that creature?” her mother asked, pulling a few dusty vases from underneath the sink. “He looks like he’s about to start tap dancing or something.”
    â€œHow about the blue vase?” Kiki suggested, carefully avoiding the question. She wasn’t sure how her parents would feel about her going out with a guy she met online.
    â€œIt clashes with the flowers.”
    â€œI know. But I like it.” Kiki drifted toward the door. “You can just leave them on the counter. I’ll take them up to my room later.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Kiki. Have a nice night.”
    â€œThanks, Mom. Don’t wait up.”
    Kiki thought she heard her mother say, “Yeah, right,” but she wasn’t sure. Lyman and her father were laughing uproariously again at something her father had said, ending with, “Sure I expected to find it. But not up there!”
    â€œAre you ready to go?” Lyman asked her as she entered the room.
    â€œYou bet. See you later, Dad.”
    â€œHave a good time.”
    Kiki paused for a moment, waiting for him to add his habitual threat. She sometimes thought he spent all week thinking them up—some of them were seriously disturbing, even if Mark, Franklin, and even Jason thought he was kidding. But her dad didn’t say anything