“Mr. White?”
“Yes, Master Borax?”
Bartholomew paused from doodling in his notebook to look up at his tutor seated at the plexiglass desk in the front of the schoolroom. There, a silver laptop wore a bright red apple decal which wasn’t Mr. White’s style at all. A pair of nail clippers or bow tie would be more apropos. He supposed the teacher was trying to add some cheer to the stark white room, but even an avalanche of grinning teddy bears couldn’t do that.
“I was thinking about my dad. Can you tell me about him?”
Although he was firmly seated in his office chair, Mr. White grasped the sides of his desk tightly. “Well, that was before my time.”
The teen sighed. “I know, but you must have heard stories. Doesn’t Mother tell you things?”
Mr. White kept his gaze on the screen. “Nothing th
