“I lean across his body and lift his hand for inspection. As i run my fingertips over his broken skin, careful not to cause more pain, I say “I meant you blowfish. Your bones.”
His hand trembles a little in mine. Somehow that rattles me more then anything else. I could deal with losing my fantasy Brody more then i can face a very real, trembling Quince.
“No,” He whispers. “I pulled my punches.” Then, with some of his usual humor, he adds, “Principal Brown already thinks I’m one step away from juvie. Don’t need to put myself there.”
I look up ready to argue, when a lumpy spot in his heather gray t-shirt catches my eye. Lifting my fingers to the place just beneath his collarbone, I’m both surprised and not to feel a sand-dollar shaped object. My gaze continues the journey up to his.
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