“So, tell me, Kennedy, was your new page born stupid or did he take lessons,” Hemingway said.

Embarassed, Kennedy looked at the door that had just closed. Dickens had left to do a coffee run. She could feel the weight of Hemingway’s beady eyes on her neck just waiting for a response. The Headmistress’ enforcers needed to be brief on the assisgnment status. Feet on the conference table, Jackson was juggling tennis balls. Kennedy pretended to be busy with her slide deck.

“Oh, H, give our girl a break. She has to cart a man child on her back during a major investigation and listen to him talk. She’s the real hero,” Jackson said.

“Look, Dickens should come with a warning label, but he’s just green. He’s learing fast,” Kennedy said without making eyecontact.

Tennis balls clutched in her fingers, Jackson’s feet slapped on the sensible carpet tiles. Hemingway had a big smile, like a shark sensing blood in the water.

“Wait just a gosh-darn Little House on the Prairie minute. Don’t tell me you’ve got feelings for the kid,” Jackson said, with mock horror.

“No, Dickens is—well I see a lot of his grandmother in him. Plath was a great researcher. She found the MacGiffin for I’ve just a rough-edged and a little clumsy,” Kennedy said.

“He’s so clumsy his brain fell out. Look I know we have to play nice and give lip service to Headmistress’ gender equality mumbo jumbo. But you, the badass tracker who campaigned against allowing males to join the Order at all, are not going to pretend you like snot-nosed boys as key agents in the Order,” Jackson retorted.

“Jacks, it’s worse. Working together they have learned to respect their differences and become an effective team and dare I say it,” Hemingway said.

“Dare to say it, dare H.”

“An effective team and dare I say friends,” Jackson and Hemingway sang the last word together

Hemingway started humming the theme song to Perfect Strangers. Jackson pelted Kennedy with the tennis balls she’s been juggling. Kennedy smacked the balls away. Dickens caught the ball in his left while hoisting the coffees in their holder with the right. Wordlessly he set down the drinks and passed them out to the three agents. Jackson slurped with a smug look on her face. Hemingway sipped her black coffee and complained it was not the right amount of unsweetened. Griping the tennis ball tightly, Dickens sat down at the far end of the conference table.

“Please don’t hold up the presentation for little old me. Just ignore me until I question my existence. I’m dumb, right. Jackson is the human equivalent of stomach flu and Hemingway has a personality that gives vultures the willies. And I’m stupid. Working with Kennedy is drinking a cup of paper cuts with a lemon juice chaser. But what do I know. I mean I figured out why the Farkus Corp haven’t used their stolen MacGuffin. But I’m the idiot in search of a village. But at least I’m not stupid enough to talk shit loudly about the guy who handles your drinks unseen.”

Spewing, Hemingway coughed and Jackson splashed herself with her hot coffee. Dickens tossed the ball to Kennedy. Mouth opened she was too slow to catch the tennis ball. Dickson stood up.

“Let me grab some paper towels and maybe a bib. Continue without milady.”