Mrs. Alvarez, the closest thing Saint Mark’s ever had to a mother, stood in the doorway with her arms folded against the morning wind. “You all right, Cole?”
I laughed once, because it came out easier than anything honest. “Apparently I inherited a hole.”
She stepped down beside me and looked at the papers. “A hole is more than some boys get.”
That was true enough.
I folded the documents, shoved them back into the envelope, slung my duffel over my shoulder, and walked toward the bus stop without looking back.
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