Paul smiled when Tommy rattled off the verses. "Gee, I spent seventeen years in Sunday school and youth groups and not even I could rattle that off as fast as you did - you're good." Of course he was, it was probably built into his godly DNA to know all of this. Which reminded him, he needed to ask Glibt or someone who knew what exactly they looked like to doctors and if they could get sick and a whole myriad of questions that he really just needed answers to, to satisfy his curiosity. And the thought distracted him sufficiently that he didn't really wonder too much about what was exchanged between Bret and Tommy a moment later.
Bret, however, got that sneaky look on his face again and turned his head to whisper at the other boy, "I plan on doing it first thing Tuesday, if you'd like to start thinking about how you're going to thank me..." And he was hoping it involved a lot more than just Tommy on his knees, but he'd happily take whatever was offered him and return it fully. His arm tightened a little around Tommy's shoulders. "You'll have to work on that tolerance of yours if you want to party with Paul, I've seen him do shots, it's impressive."
"Not that I'm a drunk or anything," Paul defended. "I've just had a lot of practice. Which..." he said, segueing into the next topic, "is probably the only reason I could get up there and sing tonight, because I knew it was coming and I had a little to drink first. Can't be doing that in class, can I?" He offered Tommy a small smile and a brief shrug, toying with an empty straw paper. "I think Spanish is a really useful language - I just wish I was any good at all with it. I'm hopeless, though." It was a good thing there were translators who needed employment, in case the country ever went bilingual. "But I promise that I won't bring back anyone who's even remotely good at math," Paul promised. "Your job is secure."