“Was it?” Johnny demanded. “Did you fall over the same Legos getting those fingerprints on your throat that you did when you busted up your face on your birthday?” “Johnny—” “And how about the bruise on the back of your neck the time before that? Or the red mark on your face the time before that again? Or the bruises on your thighs? And your arms? And the rest of you?” He glared at me. “Was that those pesky Legos, too?”
