A steady stream of fine white sand poured out of the leather and settled into the dark soil around the hydrangeas.

“Master Chief Vance was really loud in the gym,” Matty said, taking off his round plastic glasses to wipe them on the hem of his blue shirt.

“He’s got sixty-two years of salt water and shouted orders built into his lungs,” I said.

“Did Lieutenant Wyler get in trouble right then?”

“Principal Thorne asked him to leave the building,” I said, knocking the boot heel once against the porch boards to clear out the last of the grit.

“The rest is up to his command at Little Creek.”