Matty got up from the middle bleacher and came down the yellow-painted steps to the gym floor.

Two boys from his homeroom slid out of their seats and followed a few steps behind him.

“Hey, Matty,” the taller one called.

“Is that actual beach sand on your mom’s combat boots?”

Matty stopped beside the Navy display table and wiped his round glasses on the hem of his shirt.

“She came right from Sandbridge Beach,” Matty told them, his voice clear and steady.

“She cleared a live World War II practice bomb at nine this morning.”