“A pleasure to meet you, James Cooper. And is that usual? For a woman to be named James?” It was unavoidable: her thoughts went immediately to James Hawkins, the one who went by Rodeo. Shifting her position and getting comfortable again, Nadia curled one leg under herself and leaned back against the cool window behind her. The bus lurched, jerking over another pothole in the road. (Street maintenance was one of the many things that had gone away with the outbreak.)
“I am a fairly good singer, but usually only for my friends and family. At parties. Karaoke, before. Hardly professional. Drawing, though—taking an image from your head and being able to put it down on paper—I have always been very impressed.” As Avery’s fingers traced across the first page, Nadia’s head tilted, thoughtful.
She didn’t have to consider for very long, before letting the little piece of information slip. They were going to be stuck on this bus—and trip in general—together for a while. She’d already thrown herself in with these people, and so there was no need to be reticent about something so small, not anymore. So: “My brother draws,” Nadia offered. “He was a professional. He made comic books. He’s very good. Your sketchbook made me think of him.”