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When John-Henry’s eyes came to rest on Jem, Jem met his gaze. One thing he’d learned early—before Decker, although Decker had reinforced the point—was that staring matches, pissing contests, death glares, those were all stupid, bullshit moves. So, Jem smiled, shrugged, let one side of his mouth cock up, pure ruefulness.
“God,” John-Henry said. Then he laughed. “You really are good.”
Jem shrugged again, a real grin this time.
“Good at bullshit,” Emery said.
“Thanks,” Jem said.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Imagine if he taught Colt how to do that shrug,” John-Henry said.
“Thank you, John. Thank you for fresh fodder for my nightmares.”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” John-Henry said to Jem. “It’s been a weird couple of days, and I had to ask. Are we good?”
“We’re good.”
“Bump his fist,” Tean said. When Jem shot him a look, Tean added, “That’s what you do with your friends.”
The look on John-Henry’s face almost made Jem lose it.
“He’s serious,” Jem said, stretching out a fist. “You have to learn to roll with it.”
“Will you bump his fucking fist already so we can get on with this?” Emery asked. Then, to Tean, he said, “Name five reliable sources that I can use in future arguments about animals.”
The look on Tean’s face taught Jem that yes, he could actually be pushed even closer to the brink.
“Yeah,” John-Henry murmured as he rapped knuckles with Jem. “I know what you mean.”
14
They all settled down for Jem to tell his story again, this time with Emery and John-Henry as an audience.
“Where are the other guys?” Tean asked. “Should we wait for them, so Jem doesn’t have to say it all again?”
“Auggie and Theo are having a conversation,” John-Henry said, and his tone suggested it was anything but a friendly chat. “North and Shaw—”
“Are hunting for a leprechaun to fuck,” Emery said sourly.
Jem burst out laughing.
“It’s not a joke,” Emery said.
That made Jem laugh harder.
To Tean’s puzzled expression, John-Henry said, “Emery’s joking. Well, it’s not a joke. One time Shaw—never mind, it’s a whole story. They went back to their room once Emery and I got back from our walk. I think it’s just us.”
“So,” Emery said, “tell the fucking story.”
When Jem had finished, Emery said, “How stupid are you?”
“Moderately,” Jem said. “I couldn’t read until I was in my twenties. Tean had to teach me.”
Emery opened his mouth. A scarlet fringe ran along his cheekbones, and he shut it again.
“Good Lord,” John-Henry muttered. In a stronger voice, he said, “You took pictures of the birds?”
