“She’s fifteen,” he said.

“Teenagers are dramatic.

Don’t throw away a copay on a stomachache.”

He grabbed his keys and went out the back door.

At ten after three, cold autumn rain was pounding my windshield in heavy gray sheets.

The wipers thumped out a steady beat as I idled in the high school pickup line.

Kids streamed out through the double glass doors, pulling their coats tight against the wind.

I watched the crowd thin, but I didn’t spot the blue fleece hoodie.