Phillips From The Sandlot Mga Nobela at Kwento

He’s close, she whispered, and my heart stumbled. The crunch of gravel broke the silence. I looked up, and my pulse leapt. Phillip was there. Standing near Reagan by the driveway, both of them laughing about something, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. The porch light caught his face, and I swear it made everything inside me tilt. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near me. “Good game, man,” Reagan said, clapping Phillip on the shoulder. “Killer save at the end. I thought we were done for.”