Page 32 of The Dysasters

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why? Because you’re a guy and I’m a girl?”

“Well, yes. But no. But… I don’t know, kind of. Hey, get your Jedi mind trick ready, just in case.”

“And you get ready to tackle someone in case it doesn’t work.”

“I got your back, young Padawan.”

Three knocks came again. Foster halted mid–eye roll, tightening her grip on the hilt of the dull blade.

“Hello? Ms. Cora? It’s me, Finn.”

Finn?Foster mouthed over her shoulder to Tate.

“Be right there!” Tate called.

With her free hand, Foster hit Tate’s shoulder as he passed her on his way to the front door. “What are you doing?”

“Being hospitable. Try to unclench.”

“Unclench?”Unclench?

Had he actually told her to try and unclench? Like he hadn’t seen firsthand why she needed to stay a little bitclenched.They both needed to if they wanted to remain free long enough to figure out everything Cora had left for them. And anyone else who was part of their group of freaks would have to stay clenched, too.

Foster nodded stiffly to herself, gripped the letter opener tightly behind her back, and stomped after Tate for the second time in as many days.

“I swear to God, Tate, if it’s any of the Core Four, I’m pushing you outthe door and locking it behind you,” she snapped as Tate unlocked the deadbolt and twisted the handle.

“Hey!”

Foster lifted onto her tiptoes and peered over Tate’s shoulder at the owner of the cheery, unfamiliar voice.

“There you are!” He angled his crooked smile at Foster. “I’d recognize you anywhere. Man, she said it was strawberry red, and she was not lying. The pictures don’t do it justice, though.”

“What?” Foster asked, nudging Tate over as she claimed a space next to him in the doorway.

“Your hair. It’sreallyred. Strawberry red. Just how Ms. Cora said it was. Where is she anyway?”

“Wait,” Foster slid the letter opener into the back pocket of her sweats before crossing her arms over her chest. “Who are you?”

“Finn,” Tate answered.

“My man!”

Tate and Finn leaned forward simultaneously, each extending their right hand to slap, grip, and then shake before effortlessly half-hugging.

“No, no, no. You can’t just ‘my man’ someone and instantly become best friends. You don’t even know his name,” Foster said, pointing at Tate.

“Sounds like you don’t understand the power of a good ‘my man,’” Finn punctuated with a wink.

“It’s Tate, by the way,” Tate added, looking truly relaxed for the first time since the storm.

Foster huffed, “What are you doing here, Finn?”

“I work here.” Finn hooked his thumbs around the front belt loops of his grass-stained jeans. “Just came by to let out my girls and check on the fields when I saw the truck in the driveway. Figured you and Ms. Cora were finally ready to settle in. Thought I’d come down and welcome you back.”

“You work here? For how long? Did Cora hire you?” Foster fired off the questions, her tone more demanding with each one.