Description
***Book Three of the Orson Goldbloom tetralogy*** "What?" she exclaims. "Trixie is captain?!" I nod firmly. "Yeah. Today's not April Fool's Day, and looks like the All-Father's brain is clouded as f😠😠😠." "Language, Orson!" I look at her puppy eyes, and decide I don't care. "Evangeline, I'd love to tell you that I've been yanking your tail, but I'm not. Trixie is our new head." "What the f-" she sounds as if she would start swearing herself. "Language, my sweet Angel," I say. "The gesture is cute, though." "Go f-" she seems to be unable to speak the word. I grin. Let's do this the fun way. "Read after me: duck." "Duck," she copies. "Luck." "Luck." "Buck." "Buck." "Tuck." "Tuck." "Muck." "Muck." "F😠😠😠." "Fff...uh..." I sigh and facepalm. "Evangeline Youngspire, you are officially hopeless." "I'll take that as a compliment," she says, all smiley. "Oh, of course, you little sh😤😤!" I cry. Puppy eyes, oh how I hate you. "Orson, that's mean!" she pouts. "B😣😣😣😣!" I cry. "Little sl😡😡!" "Orson, you're impossible." I smile, raising my voice a few hundred octaves higher. I brush back my hair exaggeratedly and say as Evangelinely as I can, "I'll take that as a compliment."
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