Miss

She grew impatient. “Where’s he looking? Sir!” she snapped.

“Sorry,” Walking Eagle mumbled with a hand on his neck.

We wrapped up the game. Leaving with the curator, I listened to her grievances. “I can’t believe him.” She shook her head, and her ponytail bounced. “Is it because I’m a foreigner?”

“It’s because you’re attractive,” I said. “He doesn’t do well with women.”