Alexander did not.
His gaze dropped to the notebook.
The explanation was clear. Better than the tutor’s usual expensive nonsense, if Alexander was honest enough to admit it.
Benjamin took one step back.
“I’ll go.”
Lily grabbed his sleeve.
“No. Wait.”
Benjamin froze.
He was not used to being held back by anyone with clean hands.
Alexander saw the gesture.
Something in him shifted, though not enough to show on his face.
“Lily,” he said carefully, “let go of his sleeve.”
She did.
But she lifted her chin.
“He explained it better than Mr. Carrow.”
The driver winced.
Mr. Carrow was paid more per hour than many people earned in a day.
Alexander looked at the boy.
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Where do you go to school?”
Benjamin’s mouth closed.
That answer contained too much.
Lily looked at him.
“You go to school, right?”
Benjamin looked down.
“I read.”
“That’s not what he asked,” Alexander said.
Benjamin’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No school.”
Lily’s face changed.
“But you know fractions.”
“I know books.”
Alexander studied him.
The boy was too thin. His hair needed cutting. His hands were dirty but his nails were bitten short. His eyes were dark, watchful, and older than twelve had any right to be.
“What is your last name?”
Benjamin hesitated.
“Cross.”
“Where are your parents?”
“My mother died.”
“And your father?”
“Never had one worth counting.”
The driver looked away.
Lily whispered, “I’m sorry.”
