C2 shut the front door, chunked his backpack under the dining room table, and continued on through the kitchen and out the back door without a word. By the time I caught up to him (struggling to get the garage door unlocked and his bike out) we managed to communicate the immediate plan: he was leaving for his friend’s house a few streets over. I grabbed the key to the garage and began jiggling to get it open for him. As he hopped up next to me and we shoved together, he asked if I knew where the friend lived. Yep. I followed you last time.
“You what?!” I followed you.
“Katie, . . . people are gonna wonder.”
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