Mr. White sits a few feet away from her, and I have to wonder if he’s hoping maybe I’ll plop down in between them. No way. Instead, I stand next to Bobby. He sips at his coffee, all fascinated by the captain’s skill with tools and his nonstop stories. He almost looks hypnotized. It reminds me of how we used to catch horny toads when we were kids and rub their stomachs. They’d get these satisfied little smiles on their faces and lie there all stretched out and stiff. My dad said that was their way of protecting themselves—playing dead. I have to admit there’s a big difference between the way Bobby acts out here with Mr. White and the captain and how he acts with the likes of Dani and Jace. It’s like a peace comes across him. I’m just not sure why. Maybe it’s the sound of the captain’s voice, because I don’t see how anyone can hardly follow the stories, the way they jump from topic to topic. At one point, he’s telling us about hanging around with rock stars in L.A., and the next thing you know he’s in a strip club.
