CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
When I got to Ruben Dorian’s neighborhood in Northridge the next day, I parked at the curb in front of the same vacant house with the realtor’s sign in the yard. Then I called Valley Charter High School and asked to speak with Coach Dorian. The lady who answered the phone told me Coach Dorian was in class and wasn’t available to take my call unless it was an emergency. I told her it wasn’t. She offered to take a message. I told her I’d call him at home later and hung up. I’d only wanted to verify Dorian was at school, so I didn’t waste my time waiting for him to get home. Even if he planned to go out after school, chances were he’d come home first to change clothes. I would have rather broken into the house and been inside waiting for him when he got home. But with th
