“Or CADES,” he adds.
“Is that a word?”
“I think so. A cade is, like, a barrel.”
I drop my head into my hands and rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m screwed.”
John studies me for a moment and then looks down at his own phone. “Do you want some help?”
I shake my head miserably. “My streak won’t count if I cheat.”
“Well, then, you’ve just got to guess.”
I bite my lip. He’s right. There’s no other way.
“CATES and CADES are too weird,” I say. “I’m not going to use them.”
“CAKES or CAGES, then.”
“Yeah.” I roll both words over my tongue, trying to see if I get a gut feeling for one of them, but all I feel is slightly anxious.
“Do you have a good feeling about either of them?” I ask John.
“What do you mean, a good feeling?”
“Like, does either one of themfeelright?”
He stares at me like I’m nuts for a moment, then shrugs. “I’m putting a roll cage in that Miata later.”
I nod tersely. That’ll have to do. “CAGES it is.”
I take a breath—type the letters—
“I can’t look,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. I stab my thumb in the direction of the enter button. A moment of silence, then—
“Nice,” John says.
I crack one eye open. “Seriously?”
“You got it,” he says.
A childish squeal of excitement slips from my lips. I bounce around in my chair a little and then stop when I see John watching me.
“What?” I say, a little sharper than I mean to.
He watches me a moment more. “You’re kind of weird.”
He doesn’t say it like an insult. In fact, it almost sounds like a compliment.
I lift my chin up. “Yep. And you’re good luck,” I add generously. “That’s twice now you’ve saved my streak. If I have to guess again tomorrow, I’m going to have to hunt you down at home.”
“Or you could just text, like a normal person.”
I brighten. “Ooh, yes. Give me your number.”
He dictates it to me, and I save it as “John Smith (Auto Shop).” I shoot him a quick text so that he has my number and then rise to my feet. “I should get back to the desk.”
“Later,” he says.
