Rodney always gapes coming into John's house. The foyer dwarfs his parents' place. There are horses and antiques that could fund Rodney's postgraduate work many times over. John doesn't seem to notice it, or much of anything except their exam prep books.

"The SATs are fucking lame." Rodney's voice echoes in the vast kitchen. "Research has demonstrated standardized tests are biased against certain population groups, and if you know how to take them you don't even have to study, so I fail –"

"The answer to twenty-seven is 'rodomontade,'" John says, smirking. "It means 'blusterer.'"

"Shut up," Rodney mumbles.