. . .

“This is so 1800s,” says Jane, picking up the cat and cuddling him.

“It’s not just because you’re a girl,” Tom patronizes. “It’s just, there are things that you can’t understand without actually being a world-ending threat. Plus, we don’t want to spend all our Doom Team meetings discussing makeup and clothing.”

“Unless,” starts Linus.

“Zip it,” Tom says.

Linus gives Jane an apologetic grin.

“Which is not to say,” clarifies Edmund, “that we think that girl stuff is inherently boring, so much as that it’s a narrow interest.”

“Whatever,” says Jane.

“You could be our renegade alchemist,” offers Tom.

Jane looks at him.

“I mean, that’s a girl’s spot,” Tom says, “but it’s still aces for fighting science villains. They’ll never expect a spot of sudden alchemy!”

“Or you could keep the minutes!” says Linus.

He’s very excited about the possibility of having someone else to keep the minutes, particularly since there is a strict “no recording the minutes of Doom Team meetings as gothic poetry” rule.

Jane pulls a face — hers, I mean, not Linus’ — and Linus’ own face falls.

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