The last day of school. Jack's bus will be here in 30 minutes. And it's storming, with window-rattling thunder and lightning flashes and rain, rain, rain pounding the windows. Hoover is panting with fear and following me like a shadow.
If we were in a Shakespearean play, this would not be good. Not good at all.
Thank goodness we're not in a Shakespearean play. Right?