He laughs.

"It's a very large number, you see."

"Sure it is," he says. "But somebody's gonna come out on top."

"Do you play the lottery, too?"

He snorts. "No."

"The competition is way fewer than seven billion, there, and the prize is better. At least, I'm pretty sure if you think the prize for a cynicism competition is going to be any good you automatically lose."

Trouble giggles.

"Why are you so prematurely cynical, anyhow?"

"Figure it out," he suggests jokingly. "I'll give you a lottery ticket."

Trouble laughs. He doesn't even look at the notebook. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I write lots of things down. So I don't forget them. If I'm trying to solve a puzzle I may as well collect my clues in an organized fashion."

"I'm a puzzle now?"

"Did you not just declare yourself one?"

"Guess I did," he says. "So what have you got on me so far?"

"If I tell you are you going to be more careful about dropping hints?"

"Why would I?" he laughs. "Lottery tickets are cheap."

"Not much. But tentatively it might have to do with the way you shut down when I ask certain questions. I don't have a pattern on which questions yet."

"Why, just 'cause that's the only other weird thing you know about me? There's plenty more where those came from."

"Interconnected weird things are more likely than multiple independent weird things, or the things wouldn't be very weird."

"Yeah," says Trouble. "The thing all my weird stuff has in common is me."

"I don't think I would deserve a lottery ticket for figuring that out."

He giggles.

She puts her notebook away. "Well, me and Andi walk home, I guess I will see you at dinnertime with pie."

"See you then," he agrees.