“I didn’t like him,” Gabe Montgomery states, his thick biceps crossed over thicker pecs. Oscar shuts the book. “When’s the last time you’ve heard Montgomery hate someone?” Not sure. “Why are we trusting Monty’s intuition over Frog’s?” I ask Oscar. Gabe adds, “He smelled like oat milk.” I grin, nearing a laugh, and Oscar mutters, “That big buffoon.” “Team Froggy.” I make finger horns.
