You can’t ever tell if he’s upset or not. He doesn’t show emotions. He just moves on. Perhaps she could have asked if I was upset, or how I felt at all. Perhaps she or anyone could have knocked on the bathroom door after twenty minutes of hearing the faucet run. Perhaps instead of being proud that a kid could endure so much, she should have been troubled that there was little sign of any harm. Where had it all gone? Did it just evaporate? How did this boy—all these boys—become so brave?
