SAL
Ezra spent the week after Gideon dumped his stash sitting on the couch in the double-wide, drinking beer while the bruises on his face bloomed into a riot of colors. Gideon fixed the broken screen door, then moved between the double-wide and his workshop as though nothing had happened.
On Friday Sal went to the library instead of the bench. Next week he would tell Mr Merkel his made-up tutoring sessions had stopped, but today he wanted to be alone. He ate his bologna sandwich at the table where he’d found The Graveyard Book and watched through the window as Kip and his friends played basketball, trailing the admiring glances of sixth grade girls behind them like ribbons. He felt like a misfit, the way he had in the beginning of the year, when he’d eaten his lunch here every day, but
