As we get closer to town, we start watching for the red pickup. We look over our shoulders, we keep close to buildings, we pause at each intersection. Nobody notices our muddy clothes or Jason’s bloody leg. If you think about it, most people don’t look closely at other people unless they know them. Luckily for us, everyone we pass is a stranger.

When we get to our street, Skylar says, “What do we do with him? He’s not coming to my house, not after he sold drugs to my brother.”

“I’ll hide in your garage or something,” Jason says. “Nobody will even know I’m there.”

“You’re so not hiding in my garage or anywhere else in my yard.” She glares at him. “Drug dealer.”

Jason turns to me. “How about you, Abbi? Can I stay in your garage?”

“My mom isn’t home from work yet. She’ll see you when she parks her car.” He looks so pitiful, with his head hanging down and his shoulders hunched and his wet T-shirt still sticking to him so tightly I can see his belly button. How will I feel if he walks off by himself and Paul kills him?

I glance at Skylar. I can tell she’s thinking the same thing. But she’s waiting for me to solve the problem.

“There’s an old shed in our backyard,” I say. “Mom keeps the lawn mower and garden stuff in it. You can hide there.”

We walk down our street. Skylar turns off at her house. She doesn’t say goodbye to either of us.

Jason watches her run up the front steps and disappear into her house. I can tell he’s thinking he’ll never see her again. Which will be fine with Skylar.

I lead Jason around the side of my house and stop at the outside spigot. “Maybe you should wash the cut on your leg. I’ll get some soap.”

I run into the house and grab soap, a towel, and Band-Aids. Jason has rolled up one leg of his jeans and is rinsing the mud and caked blood off. He’s grunting like it hurts.

The cut is deep and nasty. I think I see something white. I hope it’s not his leg bone. “You need to go to the doctor and get a tetanus shot. You probably need stitches, too.”

He takes the soap and starts washing the cut. “I’m okay. I don’t need anything.” He’s trying to act tough now, like his normal self, but he can’t fool me. He’s still as scared as I am.

“You’ve been in the Paint Branch. Your cut’s probably infected. Do you want to get blood poisoning?”

“It’s just a cut. It won’t kill me.” He scrubs his leg, trying not to wince.