He cradles his left arm, wincing every time he has to extend it. I close the textbook “Are you sure you don’t want to report it? It’s not safe having that maniac running around out there.” “I know. I’ll handle it.” “Because punching him last time really solved the problem, didn’t it?” “Like I said, I can handle it.” His stubbornness is already wearing thin. I’ll tell Dad later, see to it someone finds this weirdo and kicks him the hell off campus. “Can I just have a look at it? He pulls his arm away again, protective. “It’s fine. Jesus.” “There’s no need to bite my head off, Nate.” “I’m sorry. I just need to rest, get it better before tonight.” I can’t believe he’s actually considering going out there with his arm like this.
