Jing moved her mouth against Yates’ temple. Her lips moved. She kept looking at me, her gaze fixed on my face. Yates shook her head. She moved her head to murmur something into Jing’s hair, then tossed her arms around Jing’s shoulders and collapsed against her. Jing pulled her tight, furrowed her brow, tore her gaze away from me. She kissed her forehead. “It wasn’t Sideways,” she said.
