Brady didn't come home that night. I sent him a text. No response. The next day when I tried to catch him before the game he dipped into Katherine's office. It better have been a scheduled appointment. Ignoring me was getting on my last nerve, the only more childish response would be mimicking everything I said in a high-pitched squeal. Maybe that was to come tomorrow.
I skipped the game, though I could hear the cheers from the parking lot. Leaning back on the hood of my little sedan, I held a hand against the glare of the sun to see my phone screen. Editing the snippets of John's speeches I'd jotted down, I smiled. An inspiration and Brady said he had a crush on me.
Me?
A strikethrough on a rant about legacies. I barely made a dent in my list when the game let out. Judging by the scowl
