spent repeating to each other the summer I was eight and he was nine. He cleared his throat. “Seriously, though, don’t be so hard on him. He’s going through some stuff.” This was news to me. “What? What stuff?” I demanded. Jeremiah hesitated. “It’s not up to me to tell you.” “Come on. We tell each other everything, Jere. No secrets, remember?” He smiled. “I remember. But I still can’t tell you. It’s not my secret.” Frowning, I turned the faucet on and said, “You always take his side.” “I’m not taking his side. I’m just telling his side.” “Same thing.” He reached out and turned the corners of
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