“Thanks, Chase. Jolly is here now. Keep me posted.” “Okay. I’ll get back when I can. Are you all right there by yourself?” “Fine. Don’t worry. Everything is fine.” My brain was frantically trying to process everything as I slowly closed my cell phone. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. Maybe all of this was coincidence—I prayed it was just coincidence. But what if it wasn’t? How would we know unless Jolly confessed? “What happened to you?” I couldn’t hold back. I knew I should probably wait for his mother, but I had to know. “I got hurt a little. You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” “A little? You’re covered in blood. Where did you get hurt?” “I don’t know. Out in the Village. You’re not the police or my mother. You don’t get to ask me personal questions.” I could remember myself being this way when I was his age. I gave my grandmother so much grief. I wished I could take it all back. “You’re right,” I finally said. “I’m not your mother.
