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injury.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Jimmy as I cup my hand around the reddened skin and gently rub to soothe the ache a little.
    â€œIt’s nothing,” I say.
    Sam turns around and is on his knees, his dark eyes huge and scared in his face.
    â€œDid I hurt you?” he asks.
    â€œNooo,” I say. “It’s fine. Hey!” Jimmy grabs my wrist and jerks my hand away to examine my shin. It’s really not too bad: just a little scraped skin that will heal in a couple of days. “See? It’s fine.”
    â€œDid you run into something?” asks Sam. “I left my bike out on the lawn. Was that it?”
    â€œNo! I got…. Er, I got stepped on.” It’s embarrassing to say out loud. Who gets “stepped on” really? Now all I can think about is elephants and things with big feet. “When I was picking up the pizza. A bunch of kids from school were crowded around the door, and I got in the way. It’s nothing.”
    Satisfied, Sam says, “Okay,” and gets up to get more water. Jimmy waits until he’s out of the room to ask, “Is that true?”
    I look at him in surprise. “Why would I make it up?”
    â€œDid someone do this on purpose?” he asks, dropping my hand.
    â€œWhat? No! What? Why would you think that?”
    â€œLet’s talk after Sam’s in bed. I don’t want to worry him.”
    Well, lucky for Sam. He gets to spend the rest of the night happily oblivious while my imagination runs wild with intrigue, fueled by the TV show we’re watching. Neither of my parents are that important, so I can’t think our family would be a target like the ambassadors and government officials on the program. But what if there’s a personal vendetta by someone Dad encountered at work, or an angry ex-boss of Mom’s, and they’re seeking revenge?
    I’m practically vibrating with questions by the time we finally pry the remote from Sam and send him to bed. His and Jimmy’s door hasn’t even clicked shut before I ask, “Well?”
    â€œThese kids,” says Jimmy, “did they hurt you on purpose?”
    â€œNo,” I respond. “Like I said, I was standing in the back of the group, and Scarlett West stepped back and nicked me.”
    Jimmy’s expression sours. “Scarlett West? You were hanging out with her? I thought you hated her.”
    â€œI wasn’t ‘hanging out’ with anyone!” I say, exasperated. Jimmy gives me a warning look and points to Sam’s closed door. I lower my voice. “Come on, Jimmy. What’s this all about?”
    He’s silent for a moment. “Scarlett West drives a 2014 Audi A5 that she owns at seventeen . Nothing good can come hanging around someone like that.”
    I open my mouth to protest again that my existing in the same place and time as Scarlett West was not of my design.
    â€œWhen I was a senior, I got beat up pretty bad,” Jimmy says before I can utter a word.
    â€œ What ?” I whisper, and then again when the full impact of that hits me, “ What ?” I grab at his arm and look him over as though the bruises will still be marring his body. He’s skinny now, but he was even reedier back in high school. He couldn’t have put up much of a fight at all. “Jimmy,” I whisper, devastated.
    â€œDon’t look at me like that,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t the end of the world. A couple of punks jumped me in the 7-Eleven parking lot. They said some stuff about our family and kicked me in the ribs for a while and then left.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I notice?” I ask. “Did you tell Dad?” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know the answer is no. Jimmy and I both watch our father drag himself in after a long shift, looking old and exhausted, and though we’ve never discussed it, we both try our best to make