I realized he wasn’t feeling me up but was rather searching for wounds about the same moment he found a goose egg on the back of my skull.
“Ouch!” Pain zapped through me, from the back of my head, down, until it shot out the ends of my feet. And yeah, I could definitely feel my toes now as they pulsed with an agonizing throb.
I grabbed his wrist and flashed my eyes open. The first thing I saw was the straight, tall branches overhead with the blue sky peeking through, checking on me as if making sure I was okay. I transferred my gaze until I focused on concerned brown eyes, the skin around them wrinkled into a sympathetic wince.
“Are you okay? Let me help you up.”
His warm, boy fingers wrapped around my elbow and more of them gently took hold of my shoulder. But when he tried to lift me into a sit, I sucked in a breath and curled away from him.
He immediately let go and shied back. “Sorry. Sorry.”
I rolled onto my side, cradling my ribs, and bent my knees up toward my chest. But...ouch, this did not feel good.
The boy hovered above me, his fear, concern, and indecision oozing with a pungent intensity. “Where does it hurt?”
I moaned, or maybe whimpered was a better word. “Everywhere.” Closing my eyes, I gnashed my teeth and concentrated on nothing but breathing until I could bear the ache. Then I blew out a breath and began to sit up on my own. He shifted toward me and extended an arm as if he wanted to assist, but then he paused, changing his mind.
“What can I do?” he asked, still with the anxious hovering.
“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s okay. I...” When I looked up, the words stalled on my tongue. Then they dissolved in shock as I realized I knew him. “You’re...” Well, maybe I didn’t know him, know him. But I definitely knew what he was. He was, “...a Parker.”
I wasn’t sure which Parker exactly. I’d seen him in school; he was a year ahead of me. But I didn’t know his first name. It had to be strange, though. They all had funky first names. Speed. Cobra. Mercedes. And there were a ton of them. Six or seven, or something like that. Their father had lined them up on our driveway and listed them off, right before yanking forward the only girl and claiming my brother Garrett had gotten her pregnant.
That had been months ago, back in the spring. After a brief, private conference with Bruce Parker—the Parkers’ dad—my father had dismissed them out of hand and sent the lot of them away, complaining throughout dinner that evening about how the dirty trash Parker family had upset his entire afternoon by daring to set their pathetic, second-hand-store shoes on his property.
The entire scene had caused a stir for weeks, really. Father grumbled about how he’d like to take the Parkers’ land from them and send them away permanently. Mother had fretted over possible rumors circulating of any of her sons having had any kind of dealings with a Parker. Max incessantly teased Garrett about his impending fatherhood. And an indignant Garrett disclaimed all accusations. But I hadn’t seen or heard from anyone in the Parker family since then.
Until now.
As my eyes grew big with shock, his narrowed in recognition.
“Bainbridge,” he hissed.
And just like that, we were enemies.
I recoiled while he shook his head, almost as if he were trying to deny our chance encounter. “What’re you doing out here?” he demanded.
“Excuse me?” I spit back indignantly. “This is my family ground; what’re you doing here?”
“I...” His eyes widened, filling with a jittery anxiety. Then he glanced around the trees as if seeking the most available form of escape. “Shit,” he muttered to himself.
Before he could explain himself, another voice boomed through the forest.
“Hey, Max!” Garrett’s shout made me and the Parker boy jump simultaneously as it came from not too far away. “You see him yet?”
“No. Nothing,” Max answered from the other side of us, the rustling of tree limbs revealing he was closer to us than Garrett was.