“The duck,” Kevin interrupts. “Obviously the duck.”
“That’s insane.” Miles pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “A horse-sized duck would have a beak the size of your torso. It could literally impale you.”
“But a hundred tiny horses?” Kevin’s eyes are wide with mock horror. “That’s astampede. They’d trample you to death.”
“Tiny hooves,” Derek interjects. “How much damage could they actually do?”
Sara leans over to me, stage-whispering, “They’ve been having this exact argument since sophomore year.”
“Different animal combinations,” Miles corrects without looking at her. “Freshman year was bears versus sharks in various environments.”
“The shark won,” Kevin adds solemnly.
“On land?” I can’t help asking.
“In three feet of water,” Derek clarifies. “It was a very specific scenario.”
Caleb shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “You’re all idiots.”
“Says the guy who argued for twenty minutes thatDie Hardis a Christmas movie,” Kevin shoots back.
“Because itis,” Caleb says, and the whole table groans in unison. “The whole movie literally takes place at a Christmas party!”
“We’re not doing this again,” Sara says firmly. “Harper, back me up.Die Hardis not a Christmas movie.”
I look at Caleb, who’s giving me these puppy dogeyes, then back at Sara. “I mean... if it takes place at a Christmas party?”
“THANK YOU.” Caleb throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
The casual touch makes my stomach flip, but I try to play it cool.
“Traitor,” Sara mutters, but she’s smiling. “I thought we had female solidarity.”
“I don’t even know whatDie Hardis,” I admit.
The entire table goes silent.
“I’m sorry,” Miles says slowly. “Did you just say?—”
“How is that possible?” Kevin looks genuinely distressed.
“I didn’t exactly have a big DVD collection growing up,” I say with a shrug.
“We’re watching it this weekend,” Miles declares. “This is a cultural emergency.”
“It’s not even December yet,” Derek protests.
“Die Hardtranscends seasonal boundaries,” Miles says seriously, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
“Exactly!” Sara says. “Because it’s not a Christmas movie!”
Caleb’s thumb is tracing absent patterns on my thigh underneath the table, and I’m trying very hard to focus on the conversation and not on how good that feels.
Except—they’re not absent patterns. Not really.
I’ve started to notice. Four circles clockwise. Four circles counterclockwise. Then he starts over.
Every time. The exact same pattern.