“I like short hairy men,” I said. “So it’s Gimli for me all the way.” Rose laughed, coughing cracker crumbs across the back of her hand. It was the first time I’d made a girl laugh that I could remember. It felt weird. “I meant what are you interested in. J.J. here plays sports. . . .” “It’s Bench,” Bench said irritably. “Right. Sorry. And . . . Deedee, is it?” Deedee nodded. “He’s all about the swords and sorcery. So what about you? What’s your deal?” Wolf spoke before I could beat him to it. “Frosty here is a poet.” “I’m not a poet,” I insisted. “I wrote one poem. Wolf here is an actual piano prodigy. He’s won, like, a million competitions.” “Only eleven,” Wolf corrected. I looked at him, impressed. I didn’t know it was that many. Seems like something I should have known, though. “Frosty . . . like the snowman?” Rose asked, eyeing me. “It’s just Frost,” Bench corrected again. “Frosty’s better,” she said. She stared at me as if she expected me to agree with her. Or was challenging me not to. I felt warm all over, but uncomfortably so. For a moment I was afraid she could read my mind.
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