15
I bounded up the stairs on Addy’s heels as she fumbled with the front door, perhaps a little too quickly. The teenager glanced over her shoulder in alarm as she threw her weight against the door, stumbling over the threshold to enter.
“If I had a dollar for every time I tripped over that,” I said, following, “I wouldn’t need a tab.”
Addy clutched the elbows of her sweatshirt, looking as though she still hadn’t quite regained her balance. The schlumpy pack on her back probably didn’t help. “You scared the crap out of me,” she said, voice accusatory.
Part of me felt like I owed her for leaving me behind at the pizza place. Fortunately, a bigger part of me remembered that I was the adult in this situation and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Addy’s long, dark hair was pulled back
