“We were so worried!” says Aunt Smiley. “I called the diner. You must have already closed up.”

“Thanks, Frank,” says Uncle Smiley.

Uncle Frankie just nods.

“Are you hurt?” my aunt asks. Surprisingly, there is a good deal of kindness in her voice.

“I’m okay,” I say. “Just a few bruises.”

“And there are no broken bones in his butt,” adds Uncle Frankie, who’s still holding me in his arms.

The Smileys stare at Uncle Frankie.

He shrugs. “What can I say? We were worried about the boy’s butt.”

“Somebody dumped this in the alley out back,” says Stevie, pushing my wheelchair across the lawn.

Uncle Frankie eases me down into the seat.

The Smileys motion for him to move closer to the stoop so the grown-ups can have a word in private. I hear Aunt Smiley say, “What the heck happened, Frank?” before I feel hot breath in my left ear.

Stevie.

“You tell anybody anything, you’re dead meat,” he whispers.

I nod.

“And I’ll torture you before I kill you!”

I nod again.

He jerks my chair forward and pushes me down the driveway like, all of a sudden, he’s an orderly and I’m an invalid.

“Let go,” I say. “I can do this myself.”

“Fine.” He lets go by giving me one last shove.

“Jamie?” It’s Aunt Smiley. Her whole face is a huge frown. She and Uncle Smiley and Uncle Frankie come over to talk to me. “We were so worried when you didn’t come home. We even called the police. Now, what happened?”

I glance over at Stevie.

“I had an accident,” I say. “Trust me, accidents happen.”