Bright red. Knee-length. Short sleeves, plain, nothing dramatic about the cut — and absolutely impossible to miss in a room where every other human being was in black or navy or gray.
People turned around. Not a few. A wave of them, front to back, the way a room moves when something walks into it.
Some of them openly stared. An older couple from Daniel’s side actually leaned toward each other.
And Daniel’s brother Mitch, two rows back, said — not quietly enough — “What the hell is this?”
I Need to Tell You What I Actually Thought, Because It Embarrasses Me and It’s the Whole Point
My first thought, in order, in about two seconds:
He’s making this about himself.
That’s what I thought. A seventeen-year-old who had spent fourteen months on my son’s bedroom floor, and the first conclusion I reached was that he had seen an opportunity and taken it.
