"Couldn't take losing, could you?" Maria said as she pulled open the door, expecting Dante and finding— Malcolm in the Middle. "Are you Maria?" the kid said, his face all toothy and acne-riddled. He looked like he'd picked up his driver's license on the way over. "Yes." She narrowed her gaze. She had ho weapons nearby, but then again, this skinny teen wasn't big enough to take her on. As a size almost-ten, she could take him, should he try anything funny like trying to commandeer her TV for a PlayStation party. "Why?" He shifted from foot to foot, a blush creeping up his collar and blooming in pale cheeks, seeping into his blond hairline. "I hear you're looking for a man. And uh"—he drew himself up to his full five-foot-eight height, letting out a John Wayne-type gust of testosterone— "I’m a man. Well, almost. I'm eighteen in six weeks." "Who told you—" No. She wouldn't. She couldn't have. The teenager gave her a smile that had given some orthodontist a Benz.
