She ducked inside. The Mayor and Zorn were propped up in lawn chairs, each holding a jar of Ton Brew. A small fire crackled in between them, and a thin line of smoke rose up into the air and out of the little circular hole in the top. It was quite warm and cozy.
“Zorn, this is Saanvi.”
Zorn said, “Hello.”
Saanvi looked at him.
“Your name is Michael but the Mayor calls you Zorn.”
“Yes. People have called me that my entire life.”
“I understand nicknames. The Mayor says people use them when they’re friends. He said it is a ‘term of endearment.’ But that’s not how people used it on me.”
Zorn took a sip from his jar.
“How did they use it on you?”
“My last name is Fickerald, but they called me Fucktardal.”
Topher suddenly felt horrible. As strange as the woman was, he hated bullies, an
