Fallout (Crank 3)

And how much do I tell?

Everything could come

crashing to the ground.

It’s like trying to cross

a raging river on a rope

bridge—fairly stable until

you reach the middle,

and then it all starts

to sway, and you know

you shouldn’t look down.

But you can’t help yourself.

DARLA COMES INTO THE BATHROOM

She approaches slowly, warily,

as if she’s cornered a killer tiger

or something. I snort. “No worries.

One attack per day is my max.”

But her expression shows concern,

not fear, and I realize it’s my face

she’s worried about. That looks bad.

Maybe we should take you to the ER.

ER? They’ll want to know what

happened. Take a report. Send

it off to my caseworker. Bye-

bye, Darla and Phil. “No. I’m okay.”

That’s going to leave a nasty

scar, Summer. Unless … we

could try the Liquid Band-Aid

stuff. It stings like crazy, but …

“I can handle it.” I follow her

to the other bathroom, watch