I clean up my mess in the kitchen and head for my bedroom. I move the Tramadol bottle to the nightstand and lift up the edge of my shirt. I touch my ribs as gently as I can, but they’re so tender I can barely get a finger on them. I stretch in the mirror and hope the Tramadol starts working some kind of magic. Seriously, who gets hit twice in the same spot in one week? How bad could my luck be?

I pull out the shoebox I keep under my bed and open the cover. I keep the cash I make mowing lawns and dog sitting and doing odd jobs around Meridien in that box. I probably have a few hundred dollars in there now that I’ve managed to save over the years. Camille thinks I’m nuts for not putting it in the bank, but I like to have it where I can keep an eye on it.

“What if your house gets broken into? Then it’s just gone?” she said to me once.

“What if the bank gets robbed?” I shot back.

She laughed until she couldn’t breathe. “Banks are insured, you tree stump. If someone robs the bank, the bank will give you your money back. Jeez.”

“I still like to keep it close.”

I don’t want to tell her that I like to count it every so often. I like the feel of it in my hands and knowing exactly how much is in there anytime I want. I put the bills in stacks and count through them a couple of times before pulling out my phone and looking at used cars online. If I wanted a rusted-out hunk of junk, I could almost buy one now. Maybe in a few more months I’ll have enough to buy something that isn’t described in the classifieds as “well-loved” or “It even runs!” I could pick Camille up in the mornings and ride to school in style. Maybe we’d even grab a breakfast sandwich at Whataburger before school.

I’m thinking about jalapeño cheddar biscuits when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Elijah stands in my door frame. His eyes travel around my room and pause first on the money on the floor and then on the bottle of Tramadol sitting on my nightstand. “I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “That hit you took this afternoon wasn’t nothing.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him without meeting his eyes. I shove the money back in the box as quickly as I can and push it back under the bed with my foot.

“I know you’re not,” Elijah says. “You were always a terrible liar.”