I heard a snarling noise and whipped my head around, expecting to see a rabid dog with foaming jowls. But it was just Mendez. I had to resist the urge to laugh. Unfortunately, he noticed anyways.

“Doesn’t it bother you to see your best friend playing tonsil hockey with the girl you like?”

I thought about his question. Did it bother me?

Watching Mendez put his slimy hands all over Jodi in the theater that one night bothered me. Waiting 12 hours for her and then being disappointed sure bothered me. And having to lay here on the grass next to Mendez wearing stupid black ski masks when I could be sleeping bothered the hell out of me.

But I didn’t want to say the first or the last one because I wasn’t sure how long this truce would last or if it was even in effect. And I sure didn’t want Mendez beating me with those beefy fists of his. He was already teetering on the brink of ‘roid rage as it was.

So I answered in a clear voice, “No, it doesn’t bother me at all.” And the weird part was that it was true.