On Sunday morning, our mothers sat on different sides of the church for the first time ever. It was uncomfortable and awkward for all of us. People were whispering and shaking their heads, because you sat with family. Always.

The service went slower than usual. I was sure God was in a bad mood, because the air felt all heavy and sour and growly. Was He in a bad mood with me or with my family for arguing? Or was He annoyed with war, people killing elephants, or something else that had nothing to do with us?

At the end of the service, I stood near the stairs by the doors, and when Eleni saw me there, she hung back, too. Once our parents had gone out, I grabbed Eleni’s sleeve and whispered, “We need to talk.” Mom and Dad were chatting to people outside and didn’t see me standing with Eleni, which wasn’t allowed now. Aunt Soph and Uncle C were outside, too, with Kallie and Elias, speaking to Father George.

“Let’s go to the restroom,” I said. “Come on, this is crucially vital.”

Just then Anastasia walked over. “Sorry about your Yiayia,” she said to both of us with a sad smile.

Eleni and I stood there in silence. Not because it was a hard thing to hear (even though it was) but because no one had told us what to reply when someone says that to you. Are you supposed to say, “It’s OK,” (because it’s not OK—not at all) or “Thank you,” (which sounds wrong because thank you is for presents) or “Yes, I’m sorry about that too,” which is obvious?

“My brother Pani’s here,” Anastasia said. “The one who plays soccer for Chelsea Youth. Want to meet him?”

We knew about Pani. Playing for the Chelsea Youth team was WOW, but still. That’s not what you say right after mentioning my Yiayia’s death. It’s just not. I was confused and needed God and Eleni to tell me what to do.

“Not now. We have a family emergency,” I said.

But Eleni said, “Oh, whoa, he’s here? I want to meet him! Come on, Lex. He’s famous!”

“Eleni, we need to—”

Eleni glared at me with her big bush baby eyes. “You didn’t say anything at Pappou’s, so now they think I’m lying and my mom is, too. So unless you’re going to tell them the truth, we don’t need to talk about this right this second. Let’s go and meet Pani.”

She started to walk away with Anastasia and turned around when I didn’t follow.

What? she asked me in whale song. And with her mouth she said, “It’ll only take fifty-six seconds. We can talk after that. Come.”

“I need to go to the restroom,” I said, even though I didn’t. Which was a lie I said in church, so it’s probably worse than any other type of lie. Unless you lie to a priest in church, I guess.

“So come after,” she said. “But come.”

And she walked away with Anastasia.