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Shawn Hunter sat on Cory's bed, looking down at the blue and red bedspread. Refusing to look at either Cory or Mr. Turner. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand.

"He's doing it again, isn't he?" Cory's soft voice broke through the silence like a bullet. Shawn nodded slowly, causing Cory to swear under his breath. "For how long?"

Shawn shrugged his shoulders. "A month? Maybe six weeks?"

Cory's mouth hung open. "Why didn't you tell me? Or Feeny? Or anybody?" Shawn shrugged. "Geeze Shawn, use your head!"

Shawn shuddered and cowered, making Cory stop short on his rant. He moved over next to Shawn, putting his arm around him. He was alarmed to find Shawn's shoulders tense under the pressure. "I'm sorry, Shawn." He said quietly.

Shawn's voice was loud and angry when he spoke. "He promised!" Just those two words. The words echoed around the room, lingering in the air.

Mr. Turner got up. He understood none of the conversation. He didn't like things he didn't understand. "Okay, I want the whole story, from the beginning."

Cory and Shawn looked at each other. Both knew exactly where the beginning was. Both had been there. They were amazed that Turner didn't know, or at least guess.

"It was kindergarten, right?" Cory said slowly, not taking his eyes off Shawn. Shawn shook his head. "Preschool?" Shawn nodded.

Cory looked at Mr. Turner. "In preschool, we went on this trip. And, well, a lot of things happened. But that was the day Mr. Feeny figured out that Shawn's father was hurting him." An intake of breath from Mr. Turner made Cory stop.

"You were, what? Five?" Shawn nodded, and it was Turner's turn to swear.

Cory nodded sagely, "Yeah. Well, I had known for a couple months, but who really listens to a five-year-old? So stayed with us and Mr. Feeny for a few months, because there wasn't enough to convict his father, event though everyone knew it was him. And then his father came to get him, swore that he was clean."

"But he wasn't?" Turner guessed.

Cory shook his head. "No, he was. But he started drinking again, only this time nobody caught it until Shawn came to school with two black eyes. That was first grade. Nobody could prove that it was his dad that was doing it. And Shawn-" he punched his friend lightly on the uninjured arm, "wouldn't say anything."

Mr. Turner was stunned. He had never known-could never imagine-that Shawn had been hurt like that. He seemed, except for a few peculiarities, like a normal kid.

Jonathan Turner got up, took one last look at the boys sitting on the bed, and went out of the room. After a few quick words with Mr. Matthews, it was decided that Shawn would sleep there for the night. He went back to his apartment, wondering how anybody could hurt a thirteen-year-old kid.

At the Matthews', Shawn was pretty good. He talked with everybody and ate more then a couple helpings of supper. But he still wouldn't let anyone look at his arm.

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