“You,” the voice from behind me said, “run along before I call Mike Walton and repeat what you said to him.” Who Mike Walton was, I had no idea. But the person behind me? I definitely knew him. The bratwurst. From the look on Amber’s face, as the footsteps behind me got louder with Kulti’s approach, she knew exactly who both Kulti and Mike Walton were. Her face might have paled, but it was too dark to know for sure. What I did know was that she was pissed. Real pissed. “Today,” Kulti snapped. The rate at which she moved said exactly what words didn’t. Amber was one of the stars of the national
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