MALCOLM SAID. HE STEPPED SO CLOSE I could feel his breath on my face. “Duh.” That’s not what I’d wanted to say. I’d wanted to apologize. But those words wouldn’t come. His right hand shot out and grabbed my shirt. In the streetlight his eyes seemed to reflect fire. He pushed me against the wall of the house. I could feel the siding dig into my back. “You worthless little piece of crap,” he said. I kept my mouth shut as the nature of the situation sunk in. I could get hurt. “It’s hard enough out there.” His fist clenched and twisted, drawing the shirt tight against my shoulders. “It’s hard enough without you making it worse. You understand?” “Yeah.” He thrust his face closer to mine. “If you ever—” He stopped in midthreat, let go of my shirt, and backed off. The muscles in his neck flexed as he clenched his jaw. I could tell that one part of him was dying to let loose and kick the living crap out of me. But another part was forcing him to hold off. It was just a joke.
