was carrying her like a panicked cat she was trying to take to the vet. Stevie’s arms and legs stuck straight out. And there was hissing. “Put me down!” Stevie demanded. “You need to eat.” “It’s not my diet I’m worried about!” “You’re being overdramatic. Stop it.” “I will not stay out here!” Stevie screeched, legs and arms now swinging wildly. “I will not be eaten! My brain is too important for future societies to allow it to be eaten!” If Max noticed any of what was going on, she didn’t show it, focusing instead on her sandwich and the bag of honey barbecue chips she’d opened. But Berg and
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