“He pushed Shannon,” I heard myself say, growing angry. “He was being a bully, Daddy.” “Did he push you?” Dad demanded, glaring at me in the rearview mirror. “Did he put his hands on you?” Shaking my head, I turned to look out my window. “No, Daddy.” “Then you had no right to put your hands on him,” Dad replied. “You’re lucky you weren’t expelled for that stunt, Elizabeth. God knows, they had bloody good reason to.” “But he pushed Shannon,” I argued back, feeling my skin grow hot as my eyes followed the raindrops splattering against the window. “He pushed my friend.” Was I saying it wrong? Why
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