It seemed overfull. “How are you, Davis?” she asked.
“Things are good. As you may have heard, I am kind of an orphan, but I am well. How are you?”
“Who looks after you these days?” she asked. “Well, everybody and nobody, I guess,” he said.
“I mean, we have a house manager, and there’s a lawyer guy who does the money stuff.”
“You’re a junior at Aspen Hall, yes?” I closed my eyes and tried to telepathically beg my mother not to attack him.
“Yes.” “Aza is not some girl from the other side of the river.” “Mom,” I said.
“And I know you can have anything the moment you want it, and that can make a person think the world belongs to them, that people belong to them.
But I hope you understand you are not entitled to—” “Mom,” I said again.
I shot Davis an apologetic look, but he didn’t see, because he was looking at my mom.
He started to say something, but then had to stop, because his eyes were welling up with tears.
“Davis, are you all right?” my mom asked. He tried to speak again but it devolved into a choked sob.
“Davis, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...” Blushing, he said, “I’m sorry.”
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