Boris glances at me over his shoulder. “Boss told me give to you.”
Frowning, I unzip the bag and peek inside. There are three brand new shoeboxes staring back at me, each marked with a name across the front.
Josh.
Caroline.
Reagan.
Could it be…?
I open Josh’s package first to find the most amazing pair of green and black basketball sneakers. Caroline’s pair of leather sneakers are pink and silver. Reagan’s are sequined and multicolored. And the sizes are all perfect.
I have a billion questions I’d like to ask, starting with, How did he know?
But I’m too dumbfounded to bother asking, not that I think Boris was about to be particularly forthcoming with additional details. I spend most of the drive back home just gawking at the shoes. The Debbie downer in me keeps wondering how I’m go
