Good news. I have my typewriter back.
People have always stared at me, and that increased especially when you started to walk with me in the halls. But it's always been a harmless, mildly interested staring.
Now they look at me critically and shamelessly, treating me like a lab rat they want to dissect.
Today in class, I overheard a huddle of students talking about my accident.
I quickly hid behind the door, but I could hear them well enough.
It was about Alex.
And, apparently, he was your half-brother. Father's side.