In Which The Author Has Much Too Much Fun With Shared Names
Alex slips out of the workshop quietly--he knows where Marshall's gotten to, but if Macy finds he's snuck off to the docks again, none of them will get dessert over at Mike and Kevin's tomorrow night, and if Nick's baking, there is no way in hell Alex Johnson is missing that.
Singer's probably with him, too. Some role model he is, Alex thinks, rolling his eyes as he walks.
Sure enough, they're right where he knew they would be, curled under the porch out in the back of the foundry, gazing up at the sky. Marshall looks up and shouts, "Alex!"
Singer tries to shush him, but Marshall glares at him mutinously and says, "He knew we were here or he wouldn't have come. Besides, maybe he wants to watch, too."
Alex does not, in fact, want to huddle under a splintering hunk of wood to crane his neck and watch as the zeppelins come in. Alex and Alex are both looking at him, though, with hopeful expressions. Alex sighs and feels ages older than eight year old, but he nods and says, "'Kay, but just for a bit, though. Then we're going back before Macy notices." He gives them a hard look, "Promise?"
They both nod and slide apart to make room for Johnson between them, and he settles in to watch the traffic overhead.