Dave at Night
Gail Carson Levine
1999
I went back to my letter. “Every Sunday there’s a chess tournament.” I stopped writing.
It was crazy. Mr. Doom was supposed to take care of all of us. Mr. Meltzer was supposed to take care of the elevens, and Mr. Cluck was supposed to teach us. None of them did what he was supposed to. When Papa died, Ida was supposed to take care of me. Or one of…
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