“Jazz, I’m fine,” Danny said, giving her a look as he pulled out another bandage for his arm to stop the bleeding.
Jazz bristled. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, but you are giving me that look.”
“What look?”
“That overprotective I’m about to kidnap you look.”
“Danny, I don’t have that look.”
“Trust me, you do,” he said, not even looking up as he continued to treat his arm. Again, Jazz was struck by how nonchalant he was acting.
“Still doing it,” he sing-songed.
“You’re not even looking up!” Jazz flailed her arms out in frustration.
“I can feel it,” he smirked.
“That’s such bull, Danny,” she countered, eyeing her brother.
She looked to the side, staring at his desk, mainly at the wall behind it. It was still covered with NASA posters. There was even a couple of homemade rocket ship models sitting on the shelf attached to it. At least some things never changed.
