The thud of a hand against glass snapped him from his fantasy of Kansas.
“Andrew!”
It wasn’t a dream. That was his mother waving at him from the sidewalk, and that was his father looking annoyed beside her. Andrew turned on his heels. Where to escape? Behind the counter? Under a blue gingham tablecloth? She kept calling his name, waving at him to come, and he knew it was too late to duck and cover. She had definitely seen him. He closed his eyes, exhaled loudly, and walked to the door.
Anna said something to Corwin, to which Corwin squinted in Andrew’s direction. Andrew looked back toward the pantry where Mark was still rearranging the stock, oblivious to what was happening in the shop. Oh God, Andrew thought. This is it. I’m going to have to tell my parents. Now was the perfect time to
