For half a second, I stood there stunned.
Then I ran after him.
Someone shouted. A display of canned soup crashed to the floor when I clipped it with my hip. I pushed through the automatic doors so hard they stuttered open, and I stumbled into the parking lot just in time to see the boy sprinting toward the side street.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Please!”
He did not stop.
I ran harder, my heels slapping against the pavement. One twisted under me, sending pain through my ankle, but I kept going.
“Levi!”
He slowed at the edge of the parking lot.
Not much.
Just enough.
Then he stopped completely, his back to me, shoulders rising and falling fast.
I stopped several feet behind him, bent forward, gasping.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I said. “Please. I just need to know why you ran.”
