33
Amanda usually sleeps until noon on Sundays. Which is why I wasn’t at all prepared to see her at my door at ten.
“Tell me everything.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Being a romantic, Amanda probably didn’t want to know I was sick to my stomach this morning. And that I made fabulous whole wheat and blueberry waffles for everyone else, but didn’t have a bite myself. Or that my family was under strict instructions to tell anyone who called—anyone—that I wasn’t available today. I didn’t add that I would never be available again.
“Well?” Amanda prodded. I made her wait until we could get to my room and shut the door.
“I don’t like him.”
She looked so disappointed. “Oh.”
“He’s just not ... right.”
Amanda flopped onto my bed. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s go do
