Somehow we all gravitate to the kitchen where Shana cooks up a quick breakfast. Breakfast might have turned out okay if everyone didn't keep on staring at me like I'd lost my throat.
"Is there something on my face that no one is telling me about?" I ask, taking a sip of the glass of milk that my mom keeps refilling.
Was it possible to get drunk on milk?
"No, not at all." Shana tells me with a convincing tone, watching with great interest as I put a forkful of egg into my mouth.
"That's it, I'm full." I pronounce, pushing my nearly empty plate backwards.
"Finish your milk, baby." My mom says, hurrying over to my side of the table to fill up my nearly empty cup.
I just glare at her. "I'm going to feel like a walking bag of juice if you make me empty this cup again." I whine, pouting. "I'm pretty sure I've already emptied a carton.
