“Sounds good, Italian . . . ese . . . Woman.” Tick didn’t understand why she could call him boy, but he couldn’t call her girl. He wanted to laugh again—for some odd reason, he felt really comfortable around her—but he didn’t particularly want another jab to the stomach. He took the sixth clue from her instead and read through it again while she stared into space for a minute, thinking.

Recite the magic words at exactly seventeen minutes past the quarter hour following the six-hour mark before midnight plus one hundred and sixty-six minutes minus seven quarter-hours plus a minute times seven, rounded to the nearest half-hour plus three. Neither a second before nor three seconds after.

(Yes, I’m fully aware it will take you a second or two to say the magic words, but I’m talking about the precise time you begin to say it. Quit being so snooty.)

Once again, M.G.’s sense of humor leaked through the message, and Tick found himself eager to meet the man Norbert had already met. At least now they knew his real name.

Master George. Sounds like something from Star Wars.

“How long did it take you to figure out the first clue?” Tick asked.

“How long it take you?” Sofia responded. Every once in a while, she messed up her English, but for the most part, she knew it perfectly.

“Once I sat down to do it, maybe an hour.”

“Then it took me half an hour.”

“Yeah, right.”

Sofia gave him an evil grin and raised her eyebrows. “Should we race on this one? Like a . . . Master George Olympics.”

Tick had assumed they’d work together to solve it, but her idea suddenly sounded very fun. If I was a nerd before, I’ve hit rock-bottom geek stature by now, he thought.

“You’re on,” he said, ready for the challenge.

“I’m on what?” she asked. “Speak English, please.”

Tick rolled his eyes. “Here, we’ll put the clue on this little coffee table, where we can both see it, okay? Neither one of us are allowed to touch it. I’ll run and get some paper and a pencil from Norbert so you can have something to write on.” He stood up.

“What about you?” she asked.

Tick held his journal out. “I’ll write in this—why didn’t you bring yours?”

Sofia shrugged. “I got tired of carrying it around. Who needs it?” She tapped her head with a finger. “It’s all stored up here anyway. So, what about a prize? What does the winner get?”

“Hmm, good question.” Tick scratched his neck, faltering when he realized he wasn’t wearing his scarf—he must’ve lost it in the wind after they busted the windshield.

“What’s wrong?” Sofia asked.