“You liked me like that in eighth grade?”

“I liked you like that in second grade, when you were all freckles and buck teeth. Come on.”

“I’ve had my braces off for two years, but I can’t do anything about the freckles.”

“I don’t want you to. At any rate, we have kissed.”

“Um, I think I would remember that.”

“After the propane exploded.”

“Right,” I said, with feigned annoyance. “When you tucked me into the window well and told me to stay put and punctuated that thought with a widdle biddy peck.”

“You were bleeding a lot, and I was worried.”

“I was bleeding a lot,” I acknowledged. “But that kiss wasn’t a real kiss.”

“Fine,” he whispered, glanced back at Tico and Suzanne one more time, and said, “then we’ll have to do something about that.”

He leaned in toward me, and my heart pounded like conga drums, and I could feel his breath against my lips as I heard a strangled “MMMMMPHHRRRRGGGGH!” and felt violent thumping coming from the back of the truck.

“Oh, shit!” Jordan shouted as he bounded out of the cab and toward the cargo bed, where Troy was covered with snarling raccoons.

“MMMPHH! RRRHHMMPH! ARRROOMMMPH!” Troy cried as he thrashed around.

I didn’t have the tranq gun with me, and I’m not sure how much good it would’ve done with six, seven, no, eight raccoons digging their teeth into various parts of Troy’s body.

“GET AWAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Suzanne, having woken up with a start and bolted out of the truck, yelled at them as she poked a branch in their general direction.

But they kept attacking.

“Jordan, I don’t know what to do!” I called amid Troy’s strangled cries.

Jordan leaped onto the cargo bed and started grabbing the raccoons one by one around the neck from behind, squeezing his grip until they went limp and tossing them into the woods. He was relentless, and one or two got a few good chomps into his arm before he had dispatched them all.

“Holy shit!” Tico exclaimed as Jordan flung the last raccoon corpse deep into the woods.

Troy was bleeding from his ears down to his ankles while making agonized groans.

“Suzanne,” I said, handing her the truck keys, “get him down to my mom. He needs attention now, and you’ll never get through to the hospital. Tico, go with them and help. And tell my mom that Jordan and I are okay, but don’t tell her what we’re doing. Please.”

Jordan lifted Troy, all two hundred and sixty or whatever pounds of him, as if he were a toddler and slid his groaning, writhing body into the back seat while Suzanne and Tico took the front.

“Go,” I ordered.

“Wait!” Jordan called. He grabbed the Hogan Construction bag from the cargo bed. “Now go.”

As we saw the red taillights fade in the distance, I felt myself starting to shake. Jordan wrapped his arms around me from behind, and I couldn’t keep from crying.