Nico
"Rock, paper, scissors?" Alaric repeated, his voice flat with disbelief. "What are we, twelve?"
I shrugged.
"Goodness," he rubbed his forehead. "For goodness' sake, Park, we are stranded in a Maldivian monsoon, about to enter this ridiculous rain, and you want to play a children's game to decide who holds the umbrella?"
"Unless you have a deck of cards or a racing simulator in your pocket, De Villier, it's the only fair option. If you are not going to do it, then let me hold the umbrella," I snapped, my fingers still locked around the handle.
Alaric shook his head. "Hell no!" he yelled. "There is no way I am letting you hold the umbrella."
"You two can hold it in the rain and—" the driver tried to suggest, but we turned to face him and yelled at him at the same time.
"Shut up!"
The driver let out a groan but said nothing else and just watched us.
