The revelation at the coffee shop counter hung in the air, thick and awkward, like the steam rising from Charmy’s lukewarm mug.
“Nope, I am pretty sure Dad is Irish,” Frenchy muttered, her blonde hair bobbing as she crossed her arms defensively.
Charmy blinked his oversized eyes, his mind spinning like a corrupted hard drive trying to process an unexpected system update. To his left, the purple-haired newcomer, Charmaine, stood frozen. To his right, Charmy’s loyal, spiky-haired buddy, Fregley, looked back and forth between the two pink-skinned, antennaed strangers with an expression of pure, unadulterated chaos.
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