Nyla
Garrett finally left for camp that evening, the front door clicking shut behind him. The very second his car pulled out of the driveway, a devious grin spread across my face. It was time for revenge.
I bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, straight toward his bedroom. My grand plan was simple: steal his absolute favorite pair of sneakers and hide them so deep in the house that he’d be searching for weeks when he got back. That would teach him to eat my lemon tart.
I grabbed his doorknob and twisted it.
It didn't budge. Locked.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, rattling the handle in frustration. It was like the i***t had psychic powers and knew exactly what I was planning to do. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of his door, deeply regretting my lack of foresi
