“He didn’t make it through selection four years ago,” Kenneth said.

“This whole fight is his own buried grudge.”

I looked down at the page in my hands.

There wasn’t a speck of salt spray on it, only crisp black type laying out four years of desk jobs in three states.

I pictured Matty again, standing in the hallway at Shoreline Middle School.

Matty had wiped his round wire-rimmed glasses on his shirt hem because he thought he’d ruined my record by writing four letters on a yellow card.

“He got a look at Matty’s card on Monday,” I said.