School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,143

bed so their heads were even on the pillows.

“You’re good at that,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Taking care of me when I’m trying to take care of you.”

Jackson smiled faintly, allowing his eyes to close all the way. “I do my best,” he said. “You’re just difficult.”

Ellery chuckled, and as he drifted into a truly necessary nap, he realized that it had been a while since he’d laughed.

Appreciating the Scenery

JACKSON REGARDED the giant cephalopod with wonder. “Look,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the guy—he was, after all, just sort of chilling. “The sign says he’s super smart. He changes colors when his favorite people are nearby.” He could swear the thing was regarding him with a friendly eye.

“Is that favorite as in friends or favorite as in foods?” Ellery asked, and while he tried to sound persnickety, Jackson had the feeling he was charmed too.

“As in friends.” Jackson scowled at him, but mischief was in his eyes. “They’re really gentle creatures, you know. A little shy, and they don’t like light or loud noise. Hey!”

That last part was aimed at a kid—maybe eleven—who had elbowed his way in between Jackson and Ellery to take a picture with his phone. Without compunction, Jackson stuck his hand over the flash.

“Hey!” the kid yelled, and Jackson shushed him.

“Buddy, as I was saying, this thing is sensitive. When you flash him like that, it hurts his eyes. And yelling is just as bad. It’s like throwing a rock concert with a baby in the house. It’s rude.”

The kid sneered, a blond, blue-eyed master of the universe in the making. “You’re rude!” and he set up to take another picture.

Jackson reached over his shoulder and took the phone from him.

“Hey!”

“You want it back?” Jackson asked, eyes flat.

“Yeah, man, gimme my fuckin’ phone!”

“Go get your parents and bring them to this spot, but do it quietly or I might lose the phone before you get here.”

“My dad’s a cop. He’ll kick your ass if you don’t give me my damned phone.”

Jackson’s turn to sneer. “And I look forward to that,” he said with sincerity. “Now scoot. We’ll be here when you get back.”

The kid took off through the aquarium, screaming “Dad!” at the top of his lungs, and one of the docents, a young man with ebony skin and gentle eyes, stepped forward in relief.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I hate it when kids do that. The giant octopus is really shy. If someone flashes him, he disappears for days. And he cries.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “No, seriously?”

“Okay, we can’t tell if he’s shedding tears from his two big eyes, but he turns… just gray. And sad. And it’s so nice to see someone speaking up for him.” The young man turned toward a group of seven- or eight-year-olds getting ready to tap on the glass. “Please don’t do that,” he said. “It really hurts their ears.”

The kids backed up and nodded, eyes big. “Sorry,” one of them whispered.

“I know you want to get its attention,” the docent told them. “And it’s great that you want to know more, but these creatures are out of their element here. We try to make them comfortable, but when they have to people too much, it stresses them out.”

“My little brother is like that,” a little girl said. “We’ll be nice. We promise.”

They gathered closer, talking in low voices, and Jackson grinned at the docent, who smiled back. It was good they got a reminder that not all kids were little assholes, because as soon as they had that moment, that kid came back with his father in tow.

Dad was ginormous—six-five, three hundred pounds of ball-playing muscle with bristly black hair from pale skin, and he did not look happy.

“Did you take my kid’s phone?”

Jackson gave his best party smile and hoped he didn’t look like he wanted this guy to eat a sea urchin in the shell. “Did you ask your son what he was doing with it before I did?”

Dad’s eyebrows went up, and he turned toward his son, who suddenly looked sullen. “I was just taking a picture.”

Jackson pointed at the sign in the cephalopod area that read No Flash Photography.

The docent took a deep breath and addressed the situation. “We are actually authorized to ask anybody hurting our animals to leave,” he said with a swallow. “Please, the flash hurts them, and that’s no fun for anybody.”

“Trevor, we paid a fortune for these goddamned tickets. If you get us kicked out because you can’t keep your phone