"It's funny," Portia observed. "I never really believe in school in summertime. I know it exists, and all, but it just doesn't seem really real."
"Mine does," Lucy said. "I can smell it if I think about it. I can smell the blackboard and the varnish on my desk and the wet floor in the hall when they've scrubbed it."
"I move we change the subject," suggested Tom Parks. "Is there another stuffed egg on the premises?"
They had met, all of them, for a picnic at Gone-Away—both the official groups, of course: the members of the Fang Club, all two of them; the members of the Philosophers' Club, all five.
It was exactly the sort of day for watermelon, so that was what they had for dessert. Foster luxuriated, sinking two thirds of his face into the icy pink slice.
"Hey, you know what, Dave?"
"No, what?"
"My new front teeth are getting to be more than just edges. I can sort of bite with them now."
"I've been biting with mine for months," Davey said wearily.
Except for a watery crunching and slurping, there was silence; then Foster said: "But you know what, Dave?"