There was a faint ink mark from a leaking pen and a ticket stub from a school play.

Nothing more.

“Would you like to keep it?” Colleen asked.

I considered throwing it away.

Then I thought of the worksheet inside, the nurse reading my name, and the way Margo had described me curled around it on the road.

“Yes,” I said.

I washed the backpack by hand, hung it on the clothesline, and watched it swing in the cold breeze until it dried.

Then I took it to school.