Tyler
I didn’t plan to climb the stairs to her room.
At least not at first.
I mean, I went from asking Dr Holmes to help convince my mom that it was just a few broken bones in my hand and not cancer so she could let me go for the post-game party.
Because that was apparently the only way I could escape Mom strapping me to her back.
And then, the next minute, I got a call from Micheal.
“Some staff at the airport got some documents scrambled, and now my dad thinks it’s some kind of training if I go unscramble them.” He’d said tiredly over the phone.
“And what do I need this information for?” I asked, basketball in hand, like it was some funeral.
Since I wasn’t allowed to touch one for the next two weeks.
“Come on,” Micheal groaned. “I’m not about to sit in some office staring at numb
