How I got to Caleb’s house, I have no idea, but I’m currently sitting on one of the plant boxes outside, waiting for his car to fully stop. For the past hour or so, I’ve been listlessly swinging my feet side to side in front of the closed gate. Finally, the homeowner is here and is staring stunned at me.
Within minutes, we had relocated to his living room. An upgrade from the grimy plant box ledge I wasted my time on. Caleb places a glass of purple liquid on the center table.
“You should’ve called or texted. We’re you waiting long?”
I shrug because I don’t know. How long is long? Do I even have my phone?
He ducks down, half sitting on the center table, so we’re face to face. Even in this hazy state, I can see the concern in his eyes. I want to reach out to him, but my hands have not
