I"d over-slept. Of course, talking to Brett until two a.m. had not helped. He had gotten off early (because of lack of anyone ordering pizza) and had called me, so we recycled the events of the day, including my finding Sinclair"s picture. Seven a.m. came way too soon and my alarm clock was the enemy and I wanted to throw it through the window.
Note to self: no more talking on the phone in the wee hours to boyfriend on school nights.
My aunt sipped coffee at the table in her blue robe.
“Good morning.”
“Mornin",” I slurred, trudging through the kitchen, backpack feeling like a load of bricks, over one shoulder. I located my keys on a peg.
“No breakfast?” she said.
“No time.”
“There"s toast,” she said. I grabbed a buttered corner of toast and jogged out the door. I hopped in my car an
