Cal’s phone was blowing up, and he knew who it was. Sierra.
School had been out for an hour or two, and he still had another couple to go before he’d be home. He’d already given her permission to go shopping with her friends after school, despite her grounding. With only ten more days until the prom, she still didn’t have a dress, and the situation was “dire.” Her words, not his.
He pulled off his knee pads, said, “I need a minute,” and pulled out his phone as he stepped outside of the house he was working on. Sure enough, Sierra had texted eight times, all about the fruitlessness of finding a decent dress he would approve of.
The last three texts were pictures, and none of them were appropriate for a fourteen-year-old freshman in high school to wear to her first prom.
What do you thin
