"I can't argue that," I say, stifling a short, quiet sigh as we walk back into the room. The bed's not the way I left it, which means I'm probably going to get very sternly reprimanded by someone in the near future. I walk back to the damn thing and lift a book from the bedside stack, a copy of Papers of the Adams Family.

I haven't cracked the cover yet. I haven't read it since I was a kid. But it was in the pile, and I keep it at the top.

"...Did you read a lot of Mark Twain as a kid?"