“Don’t you…” Tink starts. Rubs his jaw.
Pan waits a beat. “Don’t I what?”
“You owe them fifteen hundred,” Tink says. “You can’t just show up with less than that. That’s not how collateral works.”
“Uh, I absolutely can,” Pan says, folding his arms. “That’s howbargainingworks.” He smiles wider. “Those assholes are probably grateful for any cash they can get.”
“Those assholes haveguns,” Kit mutters into his mug.
“Exactly.” Tink exhales. “Pan, don’t?—”
“Aw, c’mon. You really think I’d do something stupid over a jacket?”
“Yes,” Tink and Kit say in unison.
“Uh, yeah,” I add, half a second after both of them. Not making myself look any smarter.
Pan wads up his burrito foil thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he admits. “It’s a good jacket.” He shrugs, slaps his thighs, and gets to his feet. “Well, you guys can have my stuff if I die. Just try not to fight over the?—”
“Wait.”
Pan looks at Tink. And I look at Tink. And Tink is just…staring at the back door.
Like he’s thinking hard.
But then he snaps back to life.
“Just…I’ll go with you,” Tink says. “Just in case.”
“Thank God,” Kit mutters.
Pan nods. “Fine. But I’m coming back with that jacket whether they like it or not.” He chucks the foil at the trash as he makes for the loft. “Meet me around?—”
“Wait.” I have no idea why I speak up. My eyes are still glued on Tink, my stomach churning and my ears ringing?—
Can’t you fuckin’ read?
—and I have no idea what I’m doing,whyI’m doing it.
But he waits. Tink does. Pan, too. But Tink looks at me.
His eyes are really dark brown.
A silent moment passes.
“Yeah?” he says, at last.
“Oh, uh.” Shit. All I know is I don’t want Tink to know what I think he knows. But maybe—okay, maybe if I can show him I’mnotdumb somehow, you know? Do something to his bike, fine-tune it all expertly or whatever. Make it ride better. And then even if he suspects something…maybe that’ll make it go away. “Just…I got this thing. For your bike.” I clear my throat.
Tink folds his arms. “Thing?”
“Yeah, a…”Think of something, Fox.Tink. Tink’s bike. He’s kinda small, smaller than Kit, even—and then it clicks. “Spring. For the suspension. Little less stiff than you have, should make it easier to handle.” I swallow. “Bring it in when you’re back and I’ll hook it up.”
Tink looks at me a second. With those super-dark eyes.
“Sure,” he says. “Cool.”
As soon as they’re gone, I push my annihilated pizza and my gross oat milk Cheerios to the side and drop my pounding head onto my forearms.
