“Ah, ah.” Marci steps in front of me. “Don’t give it away. The other team has a chance to steal the point now.”
I laugh. “Good luck to them.”
We turn, and seven heads are all down and whispering, but David’s still watching me, completely amused at my expense.
“Well?” Marci asks.
Rick says, “We think it’s—”
“Me and my shadow.”
All eyes go to David, whose smile has spread to his eyes as he calmly folds his arms across his chest. When he doesn’t say anything else, his whole team swings back to me.
“So?” Rick asks. “Is that what it was?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
This sets off a whole new round of exclamations. David’s team claps him on the back. My team shouts objections.
“How the hell did you get that from what he was doing?” someone asks.
“Where was the shadow?” Harper asks.
I do the thing again where I try to wave my hands at the floor to indicate my shadow. Both teams break out in laughter, and this time I’m annoyed.
“I honestly thought you were farting and trying to hide it,” someone says.
“I thought he was finger painting.”
“Shadow’s the easiest word there,” Marci says, “You should have just pointed at Da—“
“Okay!” David stands up abruptly. “I think it’s my turn.”
“David.” From the sofa where he’s been sitting by himself, Mr. Morgan also stands up. “I need to speak with you.”
The room gets quiet. David’s watching me nervously for some reason. Harper’s also got an eyebrow up as she glances between us. Mr. Morgan is looking anxious and making not-so-subtle meet-me-over-there motions toward David.
“But I was going to say—” Marci starts again.
“Jack, how’s your head?” David says.
More staring. Someone giggles. I don’t know what’s going on, but I put my fingers beneath the Steri-Strips. “It’s sore, but I’m no worse for wear. Thanks for asking.”
An awkward pause follows. Mr. Morgan is still standing, David’s eyeing Marci, who appears to be doing complex math in her head. Harper’s still ping-ponging between me and David in a way I don’t like.
Outside, a clap of thunder makes us all jump. The lights flicker and go out, and everyone groans.
“Something must have hit the generator,” Harper says.
“Bar’s open!” Mr. Morgan claps his hands. “First round is on me!”
A cheer goes up, and Harper protests for a minute, but either she’s more worried about the generator or she knows it’s a losing battle—or maybe I’ve read her wrong this whole time and she knows to trust her staff—because everyone heads out of the lounge, and she goes with them.
I walk to one of the front windows. Thunderstorms this early in the year are rare, but they’re no joke. The water in the cove is churning, white caps forming as the wind pushes water in from the ocean. TheHawkbobs at the dock, straining against her lines.
“Everything okay?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at David’s voice behind me. He’s a tall, shadowed shape in the darkened room, but there’s enough daylight that I can still see the way his shirt stretches tight as he slides his hands into his back pockets. It takes everything I can do not to lick my lips and stare at his fly.
