Chapter 22
My stomach is in knots. Whether I play it straight or act dumb, I’m taking a risk.
“Portia?” My mom shifts her gaze form the phone to my face.
“Yeah?”
“You heard my question. Please answer it. How long have you been home?”
“Not long.”
“What did you hear?”
“Something about how someone changes the subject when you try to talk to him.”
She c***s an eyebrow. “Do you know who I was talking about?”
I shrug. “I must have missed that part.”
She studies me, looking for a nervous tic or a confession. Sobbing. Pathetic.
I’m stoic. That’s the word. My face is worthy of Mount Rushmore. I am a statue. And I give up nothing.
My mom nods. “Okay. Why don’t you run along? I’m going to call my friend back and then start dinner.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Who were you talking about?”
Sh
