he said when we reached his front door. “Hah!” I said nervously. “Want to get your dirty underwear off the floor before I come up?” “I don’t leave my underwear on the floor, thank you.” Oliver sniffed. “Besides, it’s not that. It’s more about, um, how I don’t exactly have a key. Just wait here. I’ll buzz you up. Second floor, apartment C.” “What do you mean—” But he’d already disappeared. A minute or so passed by—not long, but long enough to make me wonder whether Oliver was setting up mood lighting or hiding dead bodies. Or if someone was up there waiting to stab me again. Or if someone was up there waiting to hand me a crown and tell me I was the long-lost Princess of Genovia. Or if I’d tumble into a pit of lava, only to get saved at the last second by a flying carpet. Just when I thought my skin was going to peel off from the agony of not knowing, the front door buzzed.
