The German stood up and extended a hand out to my dad, not saying a word.

And my poor star-struck dad glanced at him, and in a way that wasn’t at all like his usual self, timidly stuck his hand out—only slightly trembling—and clasped Kulti’s.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Casillas,” Kulti said in flowing Spanish, keeping eye contact with my dad.

I had to pinch my nose when my dad nodded rapidly in return, sucking in a loud breath when their hands broke apart. Coming up from behind, I squeezed my dad’s shoulders and whispered in his ear about how he needed to imagine him pooping, before taking a seat next to the German and sneaking a piece of watermelon off his plate.

Dad grabbed a seat next to me and across from Kulti, looking everywhere but at The King. This was the same man who didn’t know how to behave in a movie theater, much less church. Loud, outgoing, opinionated and stubborn with a temper that was well known… he sat quietly in his chair.

This was exactly what I’d been worried about with bringing Kulti to San Antonio. I wanted to spend time with my parents, not to have my dad so freaked out he refused to talk. I wasn’t going to embarrass him by pointing out how weird he was acting in front of the German, and I decided to try and show a little patience. We, or at least I, were going to be here for the next three days; Kulti and I hadn’t talked about whether he’d figure out another way to get back to Houston, but the fact he hadn’t mentioned leaving hadn’t escaped me either.

So, we’d see how it’d go.

Kulti nudged the plate in my direction and I smiled as I took a piece of jicama. Then it hit me.

“Where’s Ceci?” I asked my parents.

Dad raised his eyebrows, but it was my mom who answered. “In her room.”

Of course she was. There was no way in hell she didn’t know I’d gotten home. The little pain in the ass.

“Who is Ceci?” Kulti asked, holding a piece of broccoli in his hand.

“My little sister.”

He blinked.

I shrugged. What else was I going to say? That my sister hated my guts during different moon cycles?

Fortunately he didn’t ask anything else. I know Dad took it personally when Ceci acted like a turd, and then my mom would get mad that we weren’t more understanding and patient with her. I was patient with her. I hadn’t punched her yet despite the dozens of times she’d deserved it.

My mom took a seat at the table and started asking if we had any plans for tomorrow, and then saying how my aunts and cousins wanted to see me. Pretty soon it was close to ten and I was yawning up a storm, wondering how the hell my dad hadn’t cracked a single sigh when I knew damn well he was used to going to bed early, too.

The silence was just weird, with me trading looks with Kulti and my mom while Dad avoided everyone’s eyes.

All right, I’d had enough.

“You want me to show you where you can sleep?” I asked the German.

He nodded.

There was only one guest bedroom and since my little sister wasn’t even going to bother coming out to tell me hi, I guess sleeping in her room was out of the question. As Kulti followed me out of the kitchen and we passed the small living room with its hard couch that had been bought for durability rather than for comfort, I felt my eye twitch a little. That thing was unforgivable, but there was no way I was going to banish my friend to that cloth-covered rock.

What had once been my brother’s room long, long ago, had been painted and converted into a guest room for whoever was in town. My parents weren’t fans of buying new things if the old things still worked, so I knew exactly what I’d be walking into. Ceci and I’d old furniture back when I’d lived with them before college.