3
Mary Towne. Katrina’s sister had my number. And a local area code. Did that mean she was in town? She’d checked into a hotel or something?
As much as I hated to talk on the phone, some rules were meant to be broken. I tapped her number while walking down the hall toward my next class. A beep informed me that the call failed. Twice. Three times. Argh! No bars inside this part of the building for some reason. Stupid technology.
Eight minutes until my next class. About forty feet to get outside, and why was I even pretending to think about this? My hand was pushing the door open before I even finished the thought. Yes, I’d probably wind up in the last row again, but worth it. As long as that Tiffaneigh girl didn’t get the last good seat.
My call went directly to voice mail, darn it. Eit
