I hear Trixie sigh long and deep on the other end. And then she does it again.

Oh, boy. This can’t be good.

A considerably long pause ensues, and it’s obvious she’s reluctant to tell me. I might have to take the lead here.

“Is it one of the athletes?” I gently prod, being careful not to push too hard and risk having her shut down on me completely. “Someone on the basketball team?”

She scoffs. “No! God, no!”

“Okay. The football team, then?” I say, continuing this slightly awkward ping-pong conversation. Maybe it’ll be easier for her to tell me if we use the process of elimination.

“It’s not an athlete, Roni,” she says, sounding tired.

And then, like a giant bag of cement, it hits me.

Oh. My. God.

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