He pulled them off, letting them drop as he blinked water out of his eyes. Then he lifted his hand to rub away the wetness. The movement sent waves of pain shooting to his shoulder and he yelped again. “Aaron? Is that you, Aaron?” Gran’s voice. “I’m in the basement,” she called. “I’ll be right up.” Leaning against the door, he pushed himself to his feet before he staggered along the hallway and up the stairs to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and shrugged off his coat. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” he moaned as the weight of the coat slid down his arm. He took a deep breath and gingerly hiked up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The hurting part seemed to be at the back of his arm, but it was hard to see. He tried looking over his shoulder into the mirror, but the hurting part stayed just out of sight. I need eyes on the back of my head, he thought, remembering something Gran often said. Her words had always made Aaron giggle as he tried to imagine how hard it would be for ‘back of the head’ eyes to see through all the hair.
