It was three in the afternoon. "Pancakes?"
"It's a good day," Imre said, and stepped back from the door.
Bastian Yusuf was broader than his brother and moved more slowly, and the kitchen had the blinds half drawn and no overhead light on, only the lamp over the stove, and Gerrit understood immediately and without being told why that was, and felt something turn over in his stomach. Bastian looked up from the griddle. He had his brother's eyes. He looked Gerrit up and down, the way one linebacker looks at a quarterback, and then he said, "You're the kid from Castine," and Gerrit said yes, and Bastian said, "You look like crap," and Gerrit laughed in spite of himself and said, "Yeah," and Bastian said, "Me too. Sit down. You want chocolate chips or blueberries?"
They sat at the kitchen table, the four of them, in the dim light, and ate pancakes, and for a while nobody talked about anything that mattered. Bastian talked about the Steelers. Noor and Imre talked about the AP Chemistry midterm, which Imre thought was going to be brutal and Noor thought was going to be fine. Then at some point Bastian set his fork down and looked at Gerrit across the table, and the conversation went quiet without anybody deciding it should.
"Imre told me you went in," Bastian said. "Told your trainer. Told your coach. Told your team."
"Yeah."
"Told the college guy?"