In all my years of living, I never imagined myself being caught doing anything by the police, especially not in the bed of a truck with Maverick Booker. If Waverly hadn’t crushed the mood before, the police officer surely did. And I mean crushed by a garbage truck and tossed into a landfill to die.
Maverick was quiet on the drive back to the apartment. The distant look on his face grew the closer we got. It had to be King or
Waverly that called, but how would they have known where we were if they hadn’t followed us?
I glanced behind us on the road, seeing no one. Maybe it was a fluke. Zachary kids spent a lot of time in that field in high school, not
that I ever went, but I knew they did. Maverick parked his truck, and sat still, looking out at the woods across from our apartment
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