I told Jesus that Gene Shatwell Wouters wasn’t nice. Jesus told me to stay far away from her. He would deal with her in his own time.
I opened the lid and pulled out a smaller round wooden box. I lifted the lid, sneaked a peek inside and did not let Columbine see. I teased her with with a pantomimed expression of delight, my eyes wide with effected excitement and my mouth pursed in an overly emoted conspiratorial grin.
“We’ll get in trouble,” Xavi said sternly.