“The window,” Mom said. “I heard something go bang—it must have been the lamp hitting the floor. I went out and saw Red leaping everywhere with this terrifying face on. I haven’t seen him move like that in years! At first, I thought he was after a bird. But then I saw it hang itself upside down, and I realized, oh, bat.”

She began to look very interested in my face, scanning it. I could almost feel her eyes traveling over me, down my arms and neck, like when she was looking for eczema scratches.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Nothing!” She was brushing my hair away from my face with her fingers, looking all along my ears, and even behind them.

“Mom! What are you doing?”

“I’m…looking for bat bites.”

“Bat bites?”

“You were asleep, Bea. We both were. And we don’t know how long that bat has been in the apartment.”

I jerked away. “What are you saying? Did it bite us? Do bats do that? Angus told me they eat bugs!”

She pulled me back for more inspection. “I think they do eat bugs, usually. I’m sure we’re fine.” Then she saw the back of my neck. “Bea! Your eczema is much worse. How long have you had these scratches?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been itchy.”

She shook her head and moved down my arms, to my hands. “You’re bleeding!” She held up my hand to show me a place between my fingers. “You haven’t been doing that hot-water thing, I hope. Why aren’t you using your medicine?”

“Can I check you now?”

“What?”

“For bat bites.”

“Oh—yes. I guess you should.”

I lifted her hair and looked at the back of her neck, the way she had done to me. I checked her feet and ankles, and I pushed up her sleeves and stared at her arms. Everything looked normal.

“What do bat bites look like, anyway?” I said.

Mom was facing away from me, but I could see her face reflected in the dark window next to my bed. She closed her eyes.

“You know what?” she said. “I have no idea.”

—

When I woke up in the morning, Red was curled around my feet. I looked at my clock and realized I was already late for school.

“Mom!”

She came in with a funny look on her face. “It’s a no-work, no-school day!” she said. She plopped down on the bed and told me about how, after I’d fallen asleep, the super had finally managed to throw a towel on the bat, scoop up the bat and the towel together, and toss both out the window. The bat flew away. Mom said she wasn’t opening a window for a year. Then she told me that we had to get rabies shots.

Rabies. Shots.

“But why?” I said. “It didn’t bite us—we checked!”