Chapter 52

“What?” Finn offered a squinty admonishment when I laughed.

“Bruh…” The precarious pile of clean clothes on the folding table, all crooked and haphazard, inside out sleeves, stray socks dangling, balled up jockey shorts, pant legs every which way, somehow rose at least three feet high. “Your laundry is like The Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

“Hey, you ever try rolling socks and folding briefs with one arm? A hooded sweatshirt, bruh? Forget about it.”

When Finn took a swipe at the mountain of fabric with his cast, it collapsed in an avalanche of colorful shirts, sweatpants, jeans, T-shirts, and underwear. I tried to hold back a second laugh but failed. “That was mature.”

What had started off as something that could have passed as a display at that disgusting thrift store I’d rescued Dolly from now looked like a Walmart sales table two hours into Black Friday.

“Hey, I’m a fourth grader,” he said. “What do you expect?”