Over my protests, my parents had packed me off to school. They would be gone all morning making arrangements for Aunt Cass’s memorial service. They said school would keep me occupied.
Actually, I thought, occupied wasn’t a bad way to describe the situation—like an enemy army occupies the land of the loser. At least the events of the weekend made my school problems seem less important. Compared with the shock of losing Aunt Cass, facing Eddie Owens was nothing.
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