George’s question hangs in the cold air.
I tighten my grip on the envelope. “Nobody.”
He takes a step closer. “That didn’t look like nobody.”
“Since when do you follow me?”
“Since you started sneaking around after practice.” His voice is calm, but there’s a tension under it, a strain that makes the space between us feel smaller.
I shove the envelope into my hoodie pocket. “You don’t get to police where I go.”
“I’m not policing you. I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up in over your head.”
I laugh once, sharp. “Too late for that.”
His jaw tightens. “What did he give you?”
“Nothing.”
He studies my face like he’s deciding whether to push harder. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re not my keeper.”
We stand there in the alley, the sound of a car in the distance filling the gap
