When I got home, I paced anxiously around the house. It was already 1 a.m., and Mavis still wasn’t back. I hoped he hadn’t been caught. I couldn’t believe I was actually worried about him, but his words had stung. The way he called me a “moron” was something he’d never done before, and it had weakened me. Relief washed over me when I finally saw him walk in.
“You’re back!” I rushed over to him. He looked taken aback.
“Aww, so you were worried about me?” he mocked, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“I was just worried you might not find my ID and I’d be in trouble,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Hmmm, you have so little faith in me, cupcake,” he said, handing over my purse. I checked inside and saw that my ID was safe.
“Since everything’s in order, I’ll head to bed,” he said with
