Mr. Vance’s house felt strange without him.
Noah sat in the faded wooden chair.
Nothing happened.
He leaned forward and felt along the frame.
He looked at me.
“This is awkward.”
“Check underneath.”
He leaned forward and felt along the frame.
His fingers touched tape.
A small black notebook was fixed beneath the seat.
Almost every page had a date.
Noah opened it.
Almost every page had a date.
Saturdays.
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