Brett
Marcus was finally released a little after nine.
By then his mother had arrived, signed half a dozen forms, cried twice, apologized to me three times, and threatened to ground him for life even though falling off monkey bars wasn’t technically a punishable offense.
Marcus, for his part, seemed delighted by the entire experience.
He held up his cast while a nurse adjusted the sling.
“Can I get girls to sign this?”
His mother closed her eyes.
I laughed. “Priorities.”
“She said chicks dig scars.”
I immediately knew who she was.
“Cassie lies.”
Marcus looked horrified. “She seemed trustworthy.”
“She is. Usually.”
His mother shook her head. “Please do not encourage him.”
“I haven’t.”
“You told him to jump from the third bar.”
Marcus pointed at me with his good hand. “That w
