“I don’t want to talk to you,” says Mars.

I haven’t even said anything to him yet. It’s a preemptive strike, but he’s not getting off that easy.

“Yeah, if you open your mouth too wide, some of the bull —” I start, but I stop and start over. I remember the situation and, even though it’s a total kick in the crotch, I force myself to dial it back. “What’s that thing for?”

He looks down at the sling. From his expression, you’d think he’d never seen it before, but I know that’s not why he looks so confused. He’s trying to figure out how to explain it to me, the one person who knows how ridiculous it is. It’s, like, a special hand sling. The slings I’ve seen before, like on football players at school, let the hand hang out the front. They’re just made to keep the arm or the elbow still, I guess. But the end of this one is closed off, so that the hand is stuffed in there. I can see his knuckles pushing out against the white fabric near the end.

“You know what it’s for,” he says.

“No, I really don’t,” I say. “It was just a little bite. Dude, I saw it.”

Someone comes through the door, and we have to move aside, a little off the walkway.

“You didn’t get a good look,” he says. He hasn’t looked me in the eyes yet.

“I cleaned it up and put a bandage on it!”

“Two,” Mars says.

“Yeah, two little bandages,” I say. “I’m sorry I was all out of Winnie-the-Pooh ones. Where’d you get that thing?”

“The hospital,” he says.

“From the doctor?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You got it in the frickin’ gift shop, didn’t you?” I say. The gift shop in the hospital sells stuff for recovering patients. I had a reaction to a yellow-jacket sting when I was a kid, and Mom bought me a “pirate” eye patch there. I was too young to realize it was just a regular eye patch. I don’t even need to wait for Mars to answer to know I’m right. “Can’t wait to see that on the bill.”

“Shut up, man,” he says, and now he does look me in the eyes.

I crossed a line there, reminding him that his mom was going to be sending a bill to mine. He’s touchy about his family, even though he’s just like them.

“Take that thing off,” I say.

“Why?” he says.

“Because you don’t need it,” I say.

“Maybe I do.”

“You don’t, and you know it.”

“You don’t know what I know,” he says. “You just don’t want everyone to find out what a psycho that stupid dog of yours is. He’s a hazard, man. He’s dangerous.”

“Only if you make him,” I say.

“What?” he says. “Shut up.”

“You hopped the fence,” I say. “I know you did. You cornered him. He’s a rescue, man. You can’t do that. That’s all on you.”

“What? No way,” he says, but then he can’t help himself. “Wait, did you see?”

I start to respond, but he must realize what he just said, and he cuts me off.

“Because there wasn’t anything to see!” he says. “I was outside it, and he jumped up!”

“Yeah, is that the official story?” I say. I’m about to cross the same line again, but I can’t help it. I’m so mad at him right now. I have seventeen bucks and change left, and I’d give all of it to punch him right in the head. I wonder how he’d put a sling on that. “Is that what your mom is telling you to say?”

I can see that one land. It’s solid contact, a direct hit, but he shakes it off.

“Yeah, you’d know all about that kind of thing, huh?” he says. “Official stories?”

“Shut up, man,” I say. “Seriously.”

“Seriously,” he says, imitating my voice, but making it higher.

I see his eyes dart to the side, so mine do the same. People are stopping and watching. One guy has shopping bags in both arms and a couple has matching strollers in front of them. A few others are just standing there. They think there might be a fight. I don’t know if they’re getting ready to step in or if they just want a free show. And I’d love to give them one, but I can’t. For one thing, he’s wearing a sling, and even if it’s total bull, they don’t know that. They probably think I’m the reason he’s wearing it in the first place. And two, I’ve got to dial it back again, because he’s got something over me right now. He can cause real problems. I exhale.

“Sorry, man,” I say.

It catches him off guard. It sort of catches me off guard, too. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it.

“What?” he says.

It takes all my willpower, but I double down. “Sorry, I just got a little — you know how I get — how’s it feeling? The hand?”

He looks down at it, stuffed like a sausage into the end of the sling. The people start to move away. By the time he looks up again, he’s figured me out. He’s got that look in his eyes, that trickster look, the one he has when he’s about to do something crazy.

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” he says.

He shoulders past me, with his “good” shoulder. He doesn’t bump me hard, but it’s not soft, either.

“And just so you know,” he says as he goes, “you’re going to be getting more than a bill for this. A lot more.”

I head straight home after that. I even run part of the way, but I give that up pretty quick. This isn’t the sort of thing I can outrun, and by the time I find my mom out in the yard, she already knows. I start to tell her about the sling and what he said and how he said it, but she shakes her head.

“I know,” she says.

“Well, I don’t! What does it mean?”

She looks down. It feels like a lot of people have been avoiding looking me in the eyes today. She’s speaking low and looking at the grass, but I don’t have any trouble hearing her.

“I found out right after you left,” she says. “They’re suing. We’re going to court.”