“When you were a baby?”
“No, my grandparents took care of me when I was a baby.” Deeper. “But they died.” Bottoming out now.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, and he saw tears glisten in her eyes. “You’re too embarrassed to introduce me to your family.”
“That’s not it.” He thought fast. “My brother. David. He’s not well. He has a brain tumor. We think he’ll probably die. That’s why he doesn’t come to school. And it makes him act funny. He hits people, says terrible things.” Mixing truth with lies was a lot easier. “He shouts and hurts people and he’s the reason I can’t ever have friends over. Not until he dies.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If that’s a lie,” she said, “it’s a terrible one. My Ma died of cancer, and it’s not something anyone should make fun of. So, it better not be a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” he said, mustering a tear. “My brother David, we don’t know how long he’ll live, but it won’t be long. He acts like a monster, so it’s hard to love him, but we all try.”
She rocked back onto her haunches. “It’s true, then?” she asked softly.
He nodded miserably.
“Let’s say no more about it, then,” she said. She took his hand and traced hieroglyphs on his palm with the ragged edges of her chewed-up fingernails.
The recess bell rang and they headed back to school. They were about to leave the marshland when something hard hit Alan in the back of the head. He spun around and saw a small, sharp rock skitter into the grass, saw Davey’s face contorted with rage, lips pulled all the way back off his teeth, half-hidden in the boughs of a tree, winding up to throw another rock.