Chapter 18

The good thing about a place like St. Martha’s is that it still has a working payphone.  The morning after my snowmobile ride with Colin, I go down to the first floor to drop a couple of quarters in the phone.  I’m not sure what the number for his dad’s store is, so I have to call the operator to find out.  I scribble the number on my hand and then spend a couple more quarters to dial it.

The phone rings three times before Colin’s dad answers.  “Um, hi,” I stammer.  “My name is Rothe.  Ith Colin there?”

“Who is this?”

“Rose,” I say, forcing myself to enunciate.  “From St. Martha’s?”

“What’s this about?”

“Um, well, um, your thon left t...

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