“Does your mom want him to get another black eye?” “Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t give him that.” “I know. I did,” he says calmly, sipping his coffee like this isn’t a serious news bomb he’s dropping into the conversation. “You did?” My breath snags in my throat as I try to fully comprehend what he’s saying. The pocket full of sunshine. King of Whittemore High School. Wonder Boy. Punched Charlie Bennet? Because of something he did to me?
