Mom listened, nodding, then she said there was no such thing as a mean child, only an unhappy one. “But you don’t know,” I told her. “You didn’t see.” “I don’t have to see. I know.” She wouldn’t tell me how she knew, but she swore that Jared deserved nothing but my sympathy. The next day, when he kicked down my tower, I put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said. “I know you’re just unhappy.” Then he punched me in the eye.
