“She is.”
“You answered quickly,” Mom said.
“She is objectively intelligent.”
“And the interrupting?” Dad asked.
“Most interviewers ask the same question four times and act as if changing one adjective makes it new.”
Dad nodded.
“That was my conclusion.”
I looked at him.
Mom smiled.
“You’re defending her.”
“I’m correcting weak analysis.”
“Your father says the same thing when he argues with television weather forecasts.”
“They exaggerate probability.”
“You have no meteorological training.”
“I understand percentages.”
Mom turned back to me.
“Is Savannah your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“I arrived half an hour ago.”
“Thirty-one minutes,” Dad said.
“Thank you.”
“You came in at four-seventeen.”
Mom passed me the garlic bread.
“Tell us what happened.”
“You saw the videos.”
“We saw you climb onto a wall and invent a marine emergency,” Dad said. “The emotional context was limited.”
“It was crowd control.”
