“We should try again tomorrow,” I say. “We’ll take it slow. Keep to the shadows. Emmaline makes a good lookout. She’ll bark at anything weird, but I don’t think . . . the Orkins . . . will care about her. I’ve seen dogs around.”

His smile is huge, because I’ve just accepted his offer to stay. “Good plan. There’s a display of ugly-ass Snuggies in the store. I’ll grab a few. You can have the couch tonight.”

“I don’t mind the floor—”

“I do better on the floor. Back trouble. Sports injury.”

Suddenly, I know who he is. “You’re the new quarterback! The incoming freshman everyone’s excited about.” The Dispatch did a whole write-up on him, same week my team won regionals. Our win would have been front page if not for this guy. “You were going to redshirt after wrenching your back.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Local kid with a 3.7 GPA and a perfect score on the math section of the SAT. You tutored at-risk kids on weekends, led your team to the state high school football championship. Basically, a Buckeye’s wet dream.”

“I said it doesn’t matter,” he snaps.

Sore subject, I guess. Don’t know that I blame him. I’m not too keen to talk about the total annihilation of all my hopes and dreams either.

“I know who you are too,” he says after a moment, and his tone has a combative edge. “Paige Miller. Heading to UConn next year on scholarship. One of the only high school girls in the country right now who can slam dunk. You’re only six-foot-three. That means you’ve got serious ups.”

Okay, it’s definitely creepy to have a total stranger know all about me. “I can barely dunk. And I’ve never done it in a game.”

“Your video upload has over two hundred thousand views.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. Shawntelle and Ryan spent an hour with me in the gym that day, trying to get the angle and lighting just right. My voice wavers when I say, “In truth, it took five tries to get a good enough clip. I bruised my hand.” Shawntelle used the injury as an excuse to make me practice my left-handed layup.

“Still, that’s impressive.”

It was impressive, and it clinched my UConn scholarship. My stomach twists with the loss of so much—my best friend, my brother, my future. “You’re right. Let’s not talk about it. It doesn’t matter.”

We stare at each other a long moment. The Camp Lamp flickers. “Batteries must be getting low,” he says.

“I’ll take that ugly-ass Snuggie now,” I say. “If you’re still offering.”

“’Course.”

“And I could use an antibiotic. Mind if I have a look through the prescription shelves?”

He blinks. “You hurt?”

“Feral dog took a big bite out of my heel.”