CHAPTER 9

That evening while I was in the shower, I happened to look down and see a large bruise on my knee, in the exact spot where I'd been hit. It covered the entire knee, as well as part of the thigh and calf. I knew the board had done some damage, but until I saw the size of that bruise, I didn't know how much.

After I put on my boxers and Islanders T-shirt, I sat on my bed, trying to get the day's events out of my head. I was so bitter and angry with a lot of people, namely the kid who hit me with the board, as well as the person who left it lying there, with a nail in it, mind you. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up one of my Doc Martens and threw it against the wall.

Just then, I heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was either Mum or Steve, I shouted, "Go away!"

"It's Bebe," the voice on the other side said.

"Come in," I said calmly, picking up the boot and putting it back in its place.

The door opened, and Bebe came in. "Are you all right, Jason?" she asked, shutting the door and leaning against it.

"Oh, I'll live," I reassured her. "It'll take a lot more than a board to the face and a busted knee to slow your big brother down."

Bebe giggled, then said solemnly, "I just wanted to say thank you for helping me today."

I felt tears coming to my eyes, and brushed them away. I'd done enough crying for one day. "No problem," I said. "I'd do it again if I had the chance."

Bebe crossed the room and sat beside me on the bed. "Does it still hurt?" she wanted to know.

"A little," I answered. "I just have to keep taking that medicine the doctor gave me so it won't hurt as much."

"You know what, Jason? I think you're really brave."

I won't lie to you, I was so touched when she said that. "Thanks, Sis," I grinned softly. She scooted closer and gave me a hug. That's when I knew that everything was going to be all right.

Well, almost everything.

The following Tuesday, my knee was still a little sore, but I had to return to school.

"Welcome back, Jason," my teacher, Mr. Riley, said. "Oh, by the way, the principal would like to see you."

While this was going on, I could sense the other kids staring at me, and I knew why. It was because of the bandage on my face, almost as if it were a neon sign saying, "INSERT NAIL ON A BOARD HERE".

The whole time, I just wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, "What, you never saw a guy who almost had his eye ripped out before?" It was so bloody humiliating.

When I arrived at the office, I told the secretary, Mrs. Grant, "I, um—I'm supposed to see the principal."

"Very well, I'll let her know you're here," she said, pressing the intercom button. "Mrs. O'Shea? Jason Everett is here to see you."

"Send him in."

"Thank you." Then she turned to me and said, "Go on in."

I limped into Mrs. O'Shea's office, my hands shaking uncontrollably the whole time. Mrs. O'Shea, the principal, is a middle-aged woman, kind of heavyset, with short dark brown hair. "Um, Mrs. O'Shea?"

"Have a seat, please," she said calmly. "By the way, how's your face?"

"Fine, thanks," I answered, grimacing in pain as I sat down. Then I looked to the left and saw the kid I'd fought with. And boy, did he glare at me.

I kid you not.

I'm the one who almost loses an eye just for trying to protect my sister, and somehow, he thinks it's my fault.

"Now, Jason," Mrs. O'Shea began, "I've just spent ten minutes talking Chad (I don't even remember if that was his real name) about what happened, and the reason I called you in here was so I could hear your side of the story."

"Sure," I said. "Well, I was on my way to soccer practice when I saw Chad here picking on Bebe. I ran up and told him to leave her alone, then he not only made fun of my accent, but he also called my mum a really filthy name, so I hit him in the jaw. We started fighting, then he grabbed a board, hit me in the face with it, and ran."

"That must have hurt, huh?"

Actually, I thought it felt just peachy, I thought, but instead, I just nodded. The last thing I wanted was more trouble than I was sure I was already in.

"Okay," Mrs. O'Shea began, folding her hands on her desk. "I've given this a lot of thought, and before I tell you what your punishment is, I'd just like to say that I'm sorry you got hurt, Jason, and nobody deserves to be hurt that way. Furthermore, I've already spoken to Bebe, and she told me that Chad was the one who started it, and you were just trying to help her. Anyway, both of you are to stay 45 minutes after school every day for the rest of the week. I've already discussed this with your parents, and they weren't too happy, but they agreed."

"I, uh—hate to bring this up, but I'm supposed to have my stitches out today," I told her. On the one hand, I knew I had to keep that appointment, but I was also trying to get her to cut me some slack.

Which, of course, she didn't.

"Don't worry, Jason," Mrs. O'Shea said. "Your doctor called to remind me, and said he'd move you to a later time today."

Great. So much for my afternoon of freedom. Didn't anyone know or care that I was the one with the torn-up face? Also, what kind of bloody idiot leaves a board lying around with a nail in it? I mean, when you think about it, there's stupid, there's irresponsible, and there's this. I wanted to jump up and tear that office apart, but once again, I just nodded.

"Okay," Mrs. O'Shea said. "You can go back to class now."

On the way out of the office, Chad whispered threateningly to me, "Watch your back."

Detention sucks, especially when you're not the one who started the trouble. The only good thing about it was the fact that Mrs. O'Shea had the presence of mind to keep Chad and me apart, so while I was picking up trash on the playground, he was doing homework in the detention room. We were to alternate each day, and even though I hated every second of it, I suppose it was better than the two of us being together. But I still couldn't stand that wanker.

After I finished working, Steve picked me up after dropping Bebe off at the Y for her tumbling class, and we went to the hospital. Neither of us said a word: me, because I was still brooding about my punishment; and Steve, because he felt responsible for the fight and my getting hurt. It wasn't his fault, of course. It was Chad's, and in retrospect, partly my own; but at the time, I was too stubborn to admit it.

When we got to the hospital, Dr. Combs very carefully removed the stitches. As if getting hit with that board wasn't painful enough! Thankfully, it didn't last long.

"Now Jason, I have to let you know that you're going to have a scar, and it'll most likely hurt for a day or two, but after that, you should be as good as new," Dr. Combs said as he removed the last stitch.

I looked in a nearby mirror. On the right side of my face, in the exact spot where I'd been hit, was a jagged little scar about half an inch long. Anyone else would've been horror-stricken, but for some reason, I didn't feel that way. In fact, I thought it looked pretty cool.

Still do to this day.

On the way home, I couldn't stop looking at my scar in the rearview mirror. Along with my still-developing muscles and long hair—which was down to where the shoulder meets the neck—I thought it made me look tough.

"You know, Jason, if you keep looking at that, it just might come to life and spread all over your face," Steve said.

I shook my head and laughed. Steve can make anyone do that, and this was one of those times I could use a good one.

Which is why I wasn't expecting the news we'd get when we got home.

The first thing I saw was Mum sitting on the kitchen floor with her back to the icebox and her face in her hands. She'd obviously been crying.

"Mum?" I asked worriedly as I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Mum, what is it?"

"Diann? What happened, baby?" Steve added as he knelt beside her.

Mum raised her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her make-up was a smeared and runny mess. "Your Uncle Joe called about ten minutes ago," she answered, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Jason, Granny has bone cancer."

In that moment, everything went into slow motion. My brain was struggling to comprehend what Mum had just said. My whole body went completely numb. I knew Mum was still talking to me, because I could see her lips moving, but I felt like my ears were stuffed with cotton. My stomach went back and forth between feeling like a block of ice to being seconds away from jumping out of me.

When I could finally move, I ran to the bathroom—which was a real challenge, due to my legs feeling like Jell-O—and threw up all over the toilet.