Pythagoras?” he’d said, disbelieving, eyes wide, and it’s exactly the same now, except this Jason is a lot younger and had introduced himself as Michael.
I manage to choke out a
and the boy grins. I can hardly look at him. It’s not the kid’s fault he looks so much like him, but it’s painful.
Michael reaches for his belt, which looks like it’s been made from puckered leather, and pulls a small notebook from a pocket in the side.
He holds it out. “It’s from my great uncle.”
I stare at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Dude, I sacrificed my One Thing for this, and almost died getting it to you. You could at least take it.”
I take it, warily. The boy grins again, and I almost crumble. He seems to notice.
He touches my shoulder. “I really am sorry.”
I look at him, and wonder how much he knows.
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