A short, thin man in dark, horn-rimmed glasses appeared through a door in the back of the reception area. He had dark, curly hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in . . . well, ever. He was wearing jeans and some sort of concert T-shirt but the name of the band was covered by his white lab coat. On the breast of the coat it said, “Lopey,” in cursive, blue lettering. 

“Hi, there,” he said, waving at us and walking over. He had an accent that sounded a little like Bones’ mom’s. 

No way this guy was a doctor. He looked like a high schooler, a college freshman at best. 

“Good to see you, Yogi!” Lopey said, pulling Yogi into a hug. Yogi wrapped his giant arms around Lopey and he disappeared, swallowed up by Yogi’s huge frame, with only his messy curly hair and dorky glasses peeking through. 

When Yogi let him go, Lopey straightened his glasses and said, “Why is just G standing out there? Let the girl in!” Bones walked over to the door and swung it open, then rejoined us, G trotting at his side, then Yogi put one arm around Bones and the other around me. 

Page 98