“But the journal doesn’t say any of that?” he asks. “And you don’t know that. Chloe didn’t say Mike Basher did anything to her. And no one else did, either. Right?”

“But something was wrong at the dance. Something made her upset.”

“You had a fight.”

“Stop saying that. You don’t know for sure.”

“Do you know why I’m at this house tonight?”

It starts to dawn on me that Haley knows something. This has happened to me in class before. I think I know more than one of my teachers only to find out they possess knowledge I hadn’t even anticipated. I feel that way now, standing face-to-face with Haley. He seems to know more than I do. And he’s just waiting for the right moment to prove it to me.

That moment is now.

“I’m here, Hunter, because we’ve been investigating—”

The front door opens, and Basher steps into the rectangle of yellow light on the porch. He wears a smirk on his face, the kind guys like him always wear. It’s a look that says, You can’t touch me. No matter what I do, you can’t touch me.

“Hunter, stay here—”

No. Someone’s going to touch you.

I run past Haley and across the lawn, heading for the front door. Basher struts out into the yard, still wearing the stupid smirk. He’s almost a head taller than me and twice as broad. He may be a terrible football player, but he lifts weights and runs and stretches and does all the athletic things I don’t.

But I don’t care.

“What did you do to her?” I ask. “What did you do?”

Basher crouches, ready for battle, shaking his head as if I’m the strangest thing he’s ever seen.

When we come together, I swing both my fists like windmills, hoping to connect. Mostly I miss.

My fists harmlessly connect with his shoulder, his back, his sides. I’m not really sure what’s happening, but Basher lowers his head and torso, his gorilla-like arms wrapping around me. They clasp me tight, and all of a sudden, I’m seeing the ink-black sky, the pinpricks of stars. I’m upside down.

Then the grass slams against me so hard that all the air leaves my body.

More hands are all over me. And voices reach me.

“Break it up, guys.”

“Knock it off.”

“Did you see that? The kid’s violent..”

My breath is gone. No words come.

Basher has been pulled off me after executing a perfect tackle. And there are more people in the yard than just Basher and Haley.

Dew seeps into my shirt. My wind comes back. Painfully.

And my head…it hurts again…a dull thump…

Will the concussion symptoms roar back?

Please, no. No.

“Just go inside, Mike,” Haley says. “I’ve got this.”