Except that… it doesn’t look like the Abba I know. It’s him, but without a beard. And without a yarmulke
“Yair? Yair, wait!”
The voice is familiar.
I spin round.
Shimmy Gruber skids to a halt, right by the front door. I’m tempted to slam it in his face, but now that he basically shouted my name to the entire street….
My hands clench. What did he do that for? Why is he even here?
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out. This is crazy, this is insane, I’m finally inside this house, and a stupid kid who can’t keep his nose out of my business has to ruin everything.
He blinks at me. “Well, you’re here,” he says.
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