“I mean, you’re the ones who freak out about me taking the subway at night, so if you don’t want me to get raped, you should let me have the car.”

No pressure there.

Our kitchen phone rang. “That’ll be him,” Paul said. “Betcha anything. He figures your cell is off or something.”

“Don’t answer it!” Angie said.

Paul looked over at our wall-mounted phone so he could read the call display. How he could see it from where he stood, without binoculars, was beyond me. “Shit, nope. I was wrong.”

Now that Paul was satisfied this call was not Angie’s stalker, he made no moves to actually answer the phone.

“So who is it?” Sarah snapped.

“Paper,” Paul said.

“Could you get it?” Sarah said, considering that Paul was two steps away while his mother was on the other side of the kitchen.

I took a long sip of coffee, let the warmth run down my throat. Caffeine, do your thing.

Paul grabbed the receiver. “Yeah? Sec.” He handed the phone to his mother—“I told you it was for you,” he said—as she strode across the hardwood kitchen floor, the newspaper scrunched into one hand.

“I was sure it was going to be him,” Angie said, her body relaxing as though she’d dodged a bullet.

“Who is this guy again?” I asked her. “Who’s phoning you?”

“I just told you.”

“Tell me again. I wasn’t taking notes earlier.”

“Trevor Wylie.”

“Isn’t that Paul’s old friend? The one with the zits?”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sarah said into the receiver. “I filled in for him last night. He’s still sick?”

“You’re thinking of Trey Wilson,” Paul said defensively. “He’s the one with a face looked like a pizza. Trevor Wylie’s got a very pretty face, doesn’t he, Angie?”

“Shut up. He wouldn’t even know me if he wasn’t running errands for you.”

“What errands?” I asked.

“He showed up at our high school end of last year,” Paul said, ignoring the question. “He’s this total loner kid, with the long trenchcoat, thinks he’s Keanu Reeves from The Matrix. Even wears the shades. Speaks in two-word sentences. Must have flunked a couple of times, like, he must be twenty. Moved from out west or something, don’t even think he has any parents. Like, out here. And he’s a total computer nut, and he’s helped me totally reformat my computer.”

“He’s twenty and still at high school?”

“Last year. If he goes to college next year, maybe he’ll pick Mackenzie, and he and Angie can commute together.”

Angie gave him her best death stare.

“And why didn’t they use the skateboarder on page one? Who’s idiotic call was that?” Sarah wanted to know.