18. A Form of Art

McKenna

Hunter and Mom were acting kind of suspiciously, so I had to ask her on our way home.

"What was the deal with all that whispering?" I asked.

Mom frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Hunter was whispering something in your ear, turning you five shades of red. What was that about?" I asked again in a teasing tone.

Mom shot me a sidelong glance, and I could see her cheeks turning pink again. "Oh, that? It was nothing, McKenna. Just some old inside joke between him and me."

I raised an eyebrow, not fully convinced. "An inside joke? You both seemed pretty serious about it. And I thought you two hated each other? Or rather, you hated him."

She sighed. "Yes, it's true. I can't stand him, McKenna. But he was making a stupid joke like he always does. It was no big deal."

I leaned back in my seat, studying her carefully. "Um, like he always does? I find it hard to believe. I had an impression that Hunter Brooks was not the joking type."

"Well, you are