As he heard the sound of the shower bursting to life, he recalled how in the course of his angst and despair he’d tossed out her phone number. Panic surged. He was almost sure no one had been in his room since last night, let alone had dumped his trash bin, but the irrational, quick-to-dread part of his mind just knew it was gone. Now he’d have to wait and pray that she’d act on her sultry threat to call him on it, and to not be so nice about it.
By twos, his feet climbed the stairs. He burst through the door and slid against the hardwood; he might have been trying to reach home plate for the game-winning run. And atop the rubbish in his steel-mesh trashcan under his desk was a piece of crumpled yellow paper. Even then, he still believed that his heart would explode.
