He was in the living room, watching TV, and the phone was upstairs on his bed, but it was loud enough that he could have been down the street and heard it. The scratched-up screen made it hard to read the incoming number, but he had a good idea who it would be. “So, I called him,” Fatima said. “And?” “Everything was going good till I asked him about the macaroni-and-cheese thing.” “What, he freak or something?” “No, he was just all ‘That’s ancient history’ and ‘I’ve asked God’s forgiveness.’ I couldn’t get anything out of him. How about you? Any luck?” “She said she heard about it, but claimed she wasn’t part of it.” “Think she’s telling the truth?” “I don’t know. Maybe. She didn’t seem the type.” “Did I seem like the type?” He smiled. “Have you heard from Shelly?” “Her phone’s busy. I bet she’s still talking to Katie. That girl scares me.” “Which one?” “Both,” she said, and laughed. “Katie’s pretty, but she’s got this look about her, like she’d rip your head off if you made her mad.
