"‘Talent-Palooza, Night of the Stars! Share your talents Saturday night!’" he read.
Then he handed the stupid flyer back to me. "So, what’s the problem?"
I leaned over—but not too close in case he thought I was trying to be his girlfriend, which I am not—and whispered the problem to him.
"I can’t hear you," he said.
So I whispered it again.
"I still can’t hear you," he said.
So I yelled it.
"That’s impossible," he said. "Everybody has a talent."
"Not me."
"No singing?"
"No singing."
"No dancing?"
"No dancing."
"No musical instruments?"
"No musical instruments."
Mitchell was quiet for a minute.
"How about hopping?" he asked finally.
