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The question guts me.

“No.”

My voice roughens.

“We're scared.”

Her eyes close.

“There’s a difference.”

She opens them again.

“Thief.”

“Good line.”

“You stole that from me.”

“Borrowed.”

“Emotionally plagiarized.”

“I'll cite you next time.”

Her laugh brushes my mouth.

Mercy calls from twenty feet away, “If y’all are done discovering healthy communication in my parking lot, I made cobbler.”

Sweet jerks back laughing.

I glare toward Mercy.

She is standing near the school door with one hand on her hip.

“Were you listening?”

“I have ears.”

“You were spying.”

“I have eyes too.”

Sweet wipes beneath one eye.

“I want cobbler.”

“Of course you do.”

“Are you judging me?”

“No. I'm wondering whether Mercy will stab me if I sit beside you.”

“Yes,” Mercy answers.

“Wasn't asking you.”

“I have ears.”