"… and Dean, can I talk to you after class for a minute?"
"Sure." I was sceptical. This sort of thing never ends well. The bell rang, and a horde of rowdy 13 year olds bailed out, eager to get outside as fast as possible. I approached Mrs McMahon's desk warily, while a young woman wearing a simple black dress came in the door.
"Dean, this is Jane from Child Protective Services. She'd like to speak with you"
Damn, I hate it when this happens. I stood there and gave the two women my best confused look.
"Why?"
Ignoring my question, Jane asked me "Dean, where did the bruise on your jaw come from?"
Sparring with Dad actually, but its not like I can say that. They'd just think Dad hit me. Which he did. But not how they are thinking.
"My little brother thought it would be funny to trip me up, and I fell onto the doorknob. Why, what's going on?" Again my question was ignored.
"What about your wrists? What happened there?" Rope burn actually. Dad had been teaching Sam and I to Houdini out of ropes. Hard to explain as something else.
"Again my little brother. He decided that he absolutely had to play Cowboys and Indian, and I literally got roped into it. Sammy got a little… enthusiastic"