“You broke his nose! And it took like an hour to stop bleeding,” Jude says, fury making his voice vibrate.
“He insulted me, and he was trying to fight you!”
“Yeah, he tries to fight everyone at some point,” Jude says with annoyance. “I was handling it.”
“He was getting angrier and he cocked his fist and grabbed you!” I argue back.
“I get into fights all the time in hockey. I don’t need you to defend me,” Jude says and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. I notice the red streaks on it. Holden’s blood. “Plus, he’s my friend.”
“Boys are so fucking dumb,” Sadie mutters and rolls her eyes.
And then it happens.
“What the hell is going on here?” Dad’s voice fills the pine-paneled room. We all jump and turn to look at him. None of us answers his question because we know he heard everything.
He turns to Jude. “Go to bed.”
“But it’s not even past my curfew yet.”
“Tonight it is,” Dad replies sharply. “Bed.”
Jude glares at me one final time, then storms through the house and stomps up the stairs. Now Dad’s focus is on his daughters. Me, specifically. “Is Jude right? Did you punch Holden?”
“Yes.”
He looks more baffled than angry. I don’t know if that’s a good sign. It’s not the reaction I anticipated. He turns to Dixie. “Go to bed, little D.”
She scurries off. He turns his blue eyes on Sadie. “Did you see this happen?”
“Yes,” Sadie replies. “And Holden definitely deserved it.”
Dad raises a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair exactly like Jude did moments ago. I’m not sure who picked up the habit from whom. “Go to bed, Sadie.”
“Dad, honestly, she wasn’t the instigator. And Holden has said really mean stuff to her all summer long.” Sadie should be a lawyer when she gets older. She loves to argue her points.
“Sadie, if I have to tell you again…”
“Night,” she grumbles and disappears around the corner.
He walks over to me and squats down in front of me like Sadie had done earlier. He lifts the ice. The tea towel is soaking now and drips onto his black-and-gray-striped pajama bottoms just above his bent knee. “Follow me. I need to get a better look.”
I listen to him and quietly go into the bathroom behind him. He flicks on the bright fluorescent light above and blinks as his eyes adjust. He gently takes my hand and examines it. I try to hold in my winces as he pokes and prods. Finally, he looks me in the eyes. “It’s not broken. You’ll have to ice it a lot for the next few days, but that’s fine because you’ll have nothing else to do since you’re grounded.”
I just nod. He leans against the sink and crosses his arms in front of his wide chest. “You and Sadie left here, laughing and smiling. You were going to Cat’s for a girls’ night. How did that end in you punching that Hendricks kid?”
“A bunch of people showed up at Cat’s, and it turned into a kind of party,” I explain. His expression says he’s not buying it. I keep talking, explaining the whole thing with a little less detail than we gave Dixie. When I’m done, Dad sighs again.
“Winona Skye, I am disappointed in you,” he says softly, and that makes my heart hurt me more than my knuckles do. “Violence is never acceptable. Unless you are in danger of being assaulted, then kick him in the nuts or whatever else you have to do.”
I try not to smile at that, but he’s been telling us girls that advice for a few years now and it’s so awkward it makes me want to laugh. He clearly isn’t in the mood for giggles. “But you never need to get violent to defend your brother. He’s perfectly capable of defending himself. I know you know that.”
“Dad, Holden Hendricks has been bullying me all summer long,” I say. “He says the worst things to me. He picks on the way I look. He’s just a completely horrible person and I guess I just finally snapped.”
He seems to think that over for a minute. He frowns and then the gleam in his eye turns sympathetic. “Winnie, your own insecurities are why you let him get to you,” he says and gives me a smile, but I’m instantly upset by his words. The fact that I’m not as confident as my siblings already feels like a fault and when he mentions it, I feel worse about it than normal. “You’re a beautiful, bright, good kid. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You let his words mean something. And you’re also empathetic and kind, and you let him take that from you tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and I’m suddenly on the verge of tears. I hate letting him down. He pulls me into a hug.
“To be honest, I might have done the same thing when I was your age if someone was picking on me that much,” he says softly and he squeezes me. “But the thing is, which I only know now because I’m older, kids your age are usually mean or aggressive for a reason. It’s rarely because they want to be that way. It’s usually a reaction, a defense mechanism or coping skill, for something they can’t handle themselves.”
