Monday morning, six-fifteen, and Quinn lay wide-awake. Her stomach churned. She held her phone in her hand and hit speed dial.
“What?” Indy answered groggily.
“I did it. I called in sick. Now what?”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll call you at a decent hour.” She hung up.
“Great. Her brilliant idea and she won’t talk to me.” Quinn tossed the phone on her nightstand and rolled over.
Three hours later, her phone rang. She reached for it and stopped. What if it was school? Would she have to pretend to be sick? Could she? She blew her bangs off her forehead and crumpled the dust rag in her hand.
Her heart thumped nervously as she picked up her phone. Indy. She accepted the call.
Indy’s voice called, “Hey, Quinn. It’s me. Are you there?”
Quinn’s breath eked from her lungs. “I’m here.”
“Too bad.
