“Well, that was pretty rude,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You could at least take me out to dinner before trying to root me.” I turned to Maria and waggled my eyebrows expectantly, but she just scowled in response. “I don’t know what that means, Fischer, but I’m gonna assume it was uncouth, vulgar, and perhaps a little gross.” “Oh, you’re getting good at this.” “No, I’m not—your immaturity is getting predictable.”
