“Just get out there before he gets even madder.” I push at JP. “You know how he hates when we—in his terms—clown around.” “Quit clowning around,” Huxley yells. “See,” I whisper-shout. “Don’t push me,” JP says, leaning his weight into me, his back to my chest. “You’re going to make me tumble down the stairs.” “Oh, good idea. If you tumble down, then there’s a good chance you could get injured, and whatever he’s here for will be put on a momentary pause while we assess your injuries. That will give us some thinking time. And maybe if you’re willing to break a bone, that will grant us at least a
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