“Have you ever eaten anything that’s still alive?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied Easton’s face.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I ate a mosquito once when I was riding my bike down the hill by my house. My mouth was open, and it flew right in and down my throat.”
“Aww, that don’t count,” Jake said. He flicked a flat stone across the pond. It bounced one, two, three, four than a staccato fivesixseveneight “Nine!” he said triumphantly and jumped to his feet. “C’mon, I’ll show you what I mean.”
They bounced up the path, each holding a twig. The air whirred as they sliced at the tops of the tall grass on either side, scattering the seeds.
The campground supply shack had an ice machine and a stack of dry wood on one side of the screen door. On the other side sat a vending machine. Live Bait, it read, with a trout snapping at a lure below.