STUCK: IT'S ABOUT TO GET VERY WEIRD

 "In this house we won't tolerate..." the dad starts again.

Tom interrupts with a laugh, and gives me a nervous glance: "Ha ha, no, Dad. It's slang for beets. Beet-steak we call it at school, for the big ones, you know, the really big ones. Seriously, you guys are such nerds!"

"Oh, uh, okay then Tom." His dad says. "You gave me a scare there. You kids with your crazy new words."

I have no idea what Tom is talking about but it was a nice save; he clearly made that up on the spot. Tom's mom regains her happy demeanor and returns to serving the dinner.

"You sure fooled me," she laughs. "At least you're not one of those awful bug-crunchers!"

"Sierra, a bug cruncher? As if!" Tom snaps.

Tom's mom and dad have frozen again, and they exchange a serious glance. "Did you say her name was Sierra?" Tom's mom asks carefully.

"Uh, I mean, Tiarra," Tom answers, and he is fidgeting nervously.

"Oh, well, Sierra, Tiarra, either way, we've been waiting for you for a long time," Tom's mom says as she sets more food on the table. I notice Tom's dad give her a long concerned glance.

"Huh? For me?" I ask, and I'm starting to feel a bit worried. I glance at Tom and he shrugs.

Tom's dad jumps in, "Well, uh, you know, for Tom to have an actual friend, any friend for once, that's all."

Waiting for me? Bug crunchers? What in the world? This just gets weirder every minute. If someone had made this story up, I'd have told them that they were a mental case.

Tom nudges me with his elbow and nods at the stew. I dip my spoon in carefully. I look up and see Tom's mom and dad both looking at me, like they want to know for sure. I know I have to prove myself here, so I dig my spoon in right to the bottom and scoop up a heaping mound of green slime. It looks like someone took eggs, seaweed, grass, and rotten bananas, put them in a blender, and turned it into a mushy, slimy mulch. I feel myself almost gag but I know I have to hold it together. I shove the whole thing in my mouth. I think I'm going to barf, but then the taste hits.

It's good.

It's REALLY good.

I gulp it down and my hunger takes over.

I think to myself, well, I haven't eaten since I crossed the universe...of course I'm hungry! I shovel in scoop after scoop until the bowl is empty.

When I finally stop I look up and all three of them are staring at me with their jaws hanging open. Even Tom looks shocked.

I know I have to break the ice.

"Wow! I can see why this stew is your favorite, Tom!" I exclaim. Everyone breaks out in laughter and I know I'm good to go. Tom's mom and dad visibly relax and start an easygoing conversation about work, asking us about school, and passing trays of delicious weedy-food around. It all tastes wonderful and I feel relaxed and safer than I have felt all day.

When Tom's mom and dad get up from the table to clear the dishes, Tom smiles and winks at me, and whispers "Nice work."

I smile back, thinking that I don't know why he hates the food, because it was really delicious. I wasn't pretending. I decide not to tell him I liked it, because I think it helps him trust me if he thinks I was pretending. Either way, everyone's happy and I'm full.

Tom and I get up from the table and help clean up. It's clear that this is a happy family, and it makes me miss my family even more. When I get back, I'm going to make stinkweed stew for them. I almost laugh out loud as I think about putting that one in for the school recipe book. They'll think I've lost my mind, and then when they see it, they'll lock me up for sure. I realize they'll never try it, because THEY won't be across the table from weed-eating crazies from the mental-dimension. But I know Sam will try it. All I'll have to do is dare her. She can't pass up a dare, EVER. Last camping trip she ate a giant worm on a dare. I smile just thinking about it.