Dinner. 8 tonight. Pizzeria.
I stared at the text Channing sent me, but I couldn’t believe it. I re-read it. Still there. I read it a third time. Nope. It wasn’t changing. I even went letter by letter to make sure.
According to this text—if it was sent by my brother, if someone hadn’t stolen his phone or one of his crew guys wasn’t playing a prank—he wanted to meet me at one of the only normal hangouts in Roussou.
We had the springs not far away. And there was Manny’s in Fallen Crest. After that, to each their own. We had Jordan’s warehouse. The Ryerson crew hung out at Alex’s house.
But the Pizzeria was the only local public option, and it was mostly filled up with team events or family dinners. The basement had a pool table, foosball, and an air hockey machine. There were a few other
