Page 103 of You're so Bad

“Nah, man, we didn’t know if you were going to stick around. But it’s like I said—we’re gonna bring you to someone who can look at your stitches. There’s food there, too.”

“Yes,” Shauna says. “Unlike Leonard, we have real food.”

I can’t argue with that.

“We’re going to your place?” the kid asks her.

“Yeah,” I say, “and the woman who’s going to look at your stitches is Shauna here’s grandmother. She’s gonna get you sorted.”

“What’d you do to your feet?” he asks with a whistle.

“Someone took my sneakers, so I had to run in boots,” I say, but I can’t find it in myself to sound pissed about it. I’m too relieved he’s okay—or will be if he doesn’t have gangrene of the arm.

I glance down at his feet, but he doesn’t have my kickers. He’s in some cheap shoes that look like they have holes in the soles. “What gives?”

He grimaces. “I needed money for the ticket. They were nice shoes. I’m sorry, man. I had this plan to earn money in Wilmington. I was going to sketch those big head pictures of people on the beach. You know the ones.”

“Caricatures,” Shauna supplies.

“Yeah, those.” He rubs Bean under the chin. “I was gonna earn the money and send it back to you. But it turns out you need a license to sell things, even shit like that, and someone ratted me out. The cop gave me a talking-to. And then there was a fight in the shelter, and a kid got knifed. That’s when I decided to come back.”

“It’s okay. Next time ask.”

He nods, lifting Bean a little so she’s tucked under his chin. He’s holding her gently, like he knows she should be protected. That’s good. “What’s the cat’ name?”

“Bean.” He looks like he thinks I’m fucking with him, so I add, “No bullshit.”

“That’s a dumb name.” A pause. “But I like her.”

“I agree on both counts. Why haven’t you been reported as a missing person, kid?”

He sighs, shuffling his feet like he wishes he’d run. “You checked?”

“Like I said, we were worried.”

“My foster father likes dealing with things himself. LikeIsaid, his brother’s on the force.”

I nod at him and then look to Shauna. “Should we call Constance and warn her?”

She snorts. “Are you kidding? The excitement’s going to add five years to her life.”

* * *

Constance tutsher tongue as she finishes wrapping Reese’s arm in a fresh bandage. “You did your damnedest to lose your arm, but you’ll live.”

“I could have lost it?” His eyes widen and skate to the scar slicing across my bicep.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “I didn’t take care of it, and now I’m scarred for life. You’d do well to learn from my mistakes.”

We’re sitting in Constance and Shauna’s living room, Reese in an armchair next to Constance, who’s set up in a dining room chair next to him with her First Aid bag. Shauna and I on the couch, next to a dog bed from which the little gremlin’s giving me a stink stare. A better acquaintance isn’t doing the trick with him, so I’m going to have to start carrying bacon around in my pockets.

“Are you really almost eighteen?” Shauna asks pointedly, straight for the balls as always.

“I am,” Reese says, “swear to Christ.”

“Your birthday?” I ask.

“September 25.”

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