Chapter 11: Too Many Questions, Part 2

The only time he was ever friendly toward me was when we were alone or in World History class. That wasn't how friends treated each other.

"I'm sorry," he said after several moments of tense silence.

"For what?" I asked, waiting for an answer that was another question, but this time, he ignored me.

Trent wouldn't win any accolades for his conversational skills. I'd never met anyone like him before. All the guys I knew back in Florida couldn't seem to stop talking about one thing or another, usually sports or partying or cars.

He slowed to a stop for an accident that had traffic backed up. He made a noise that sounded like a low, throaty growl. Then he did a U-turn and headed back the way we'd just come.

"We'll have to go the long way," he said.

How did he know an alternate route? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask when he spoke first. "Who was Abby with?"

"What?"

"Last night when I found you on the side of the road. You said Abby was meeting some boy. Who was she with?"