”“What’s your dad do?” I asked.“He’s a research chemist.”“So you’re a chemistry major?”He shook his head. “Close, though. Chemic...l Engineering.”“How about you?” I asked Trip. “What’s your dad do?”“He’s a record producer.”“Cool,” I said. “I guess that explains your record collection. And the stereo.”“McIntosh,” Trip corrected.“Couillon,” Luke said again. Then he grinned at me sidelong.“What’s your dad do, Paul?” Trip asked, ignoring Luke’s barb.“He’s an airline pilot,” I said. “He flies. "You don't need them any more!" said the black-haired girl in aharsh whisper. She kept on pulling. Just then, Puss did a passable imitationof a hoot owl. The girl turned toward the sound with a startled look on herface. "What the . . . " she started to say, when a bolt from Puss'scrossbow caught her in the belly, just below her navel. A few screams, a lotof wailing and tears, and she was bound and lined up with the others. Pussin Boots went to sleep. The next morning, he got up and came over to. More

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