About an hour later, I was back inside, still fuming, when I heard something happening outside on Trevor’s side.
At first, I thought he was moving furniture around.
Then I heard shouting.
Not normal, apartment-building shouting either.
It was the kind of shouting where you could tell someone had just realized something had gone very, very wrong.
I went to my window.
There was Trevor standing in the parking lot in his pajamas, staring at his balcony.
And directly beneath him was his second dining chair.
Except this one hadn’t landed on my car.
It had landed on Trevor’s own brand-new SUV.
Continue on the next page:
