Abby
I’m still clutching my phone so tightly that my knuckles are probably turning white. I’m standing in the middle of the cold storeroom, my hands shaking slightly as I wait for Mr. Thompson’s verdict.
“I’ve called to inform you of the results from last night,” he says. “First of all, I hope you’re doing well.”
“Y-Yeah, I’m doing good,” I manage, struggling and, quite frankly, failing to keep my voice steady. “And you?”
Mr. Thompson chuckles lightly. “I’m well, Abby,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I can picture him on the other end of the phone, probably smirking as he speaks. Is he enjoying toying with me? I need to hear the results!
My heart skips a beat, and I grip the phone even tighter. “Look, Mr. Thompson—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“After careful conside
