Dodger and Me by Jordan Sonnenblick Page B

did it happen?”
    â€œWell, it’s kind of a secret. I mean, I don’t know if Dodger would want me to tell.”
    â€œCome on, Willie. Didn’t he already show himself to me?”
    I wasn’t sure what I should do. And how did I know I could trust Lizzie? I knew Dodger thought she was special, but that didn’t mean—

    â€œWill, you can trust me. Dodger can be our own private secret! And I can keep a secret. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”
    Just then, the moms looked up and saw us, so I was saved from answering. Lizzie picked up the bloody little pile from the lawn and we started walking across the yard. When we got to the back porch, where my dad keeps the garbage cans, she slipped the whole thing behind her back into one of the cans without even breaking stride. I had to admit, it was a slick move.
    Man, my life was getting weird.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Grounded
    I ALMOST GOT THROUGH the living room without my mom noticing my nose situation. I mean, she looked at me and Lizzie when we came inside to say hello, but she was figuring out some kind of big PTA budgeting problem on the calculator, so I don’t think anything registered right away. Unfortunately, Amy was lying on the couch doing her homework, and she noticed instantly as I tried to glide toward the stairs without attracting too much close attention. “Oh, Willie!” Amy shrieked. “What happened to your nose? It’s horrible!”
    That got Mom’s attention. She jumped up,
grabbed me by both arms, and said, “Are you all right? Oh, my buddy!” I could have died of humiliation right there on the spot.
    I mumbled, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s just a—”
    Before I could finish, Mom pulled my head to her chest in a bone-crushing hug. I caught a momentary glimpse of Amy smirking with mischievous satisfaction, and then the flood came. A thick gout of blood splashed onto the white sweater Mom was wearing. She pushed me to arm’s length and then started yelling. She yelled while Lizzie tried to explain that we had just been playing catch; Lizzie looked down at the floor and bit her bottom lip. Mom yelled some more while she dragged me to the bathroom and stuffed twisted tissues up my nose. She yelled while she dragged me down to the laundry room and poured stain remover all over the front of the sweater. She stopped yelling long enough to tell Lizzie, “William has to be careful when he plays—he’s very delicate!” I could have sworn I saw Lizzie rolling her eyes at that one as Mom turned back to me and asked, “Why weren’t you wearing your batting helmet?” I said, “Mom, people don’t wear batting helmets to
play catch.” She fired back, “They do if they plan to use their face as a mitt!” On that embarrassing note, Lizzie and her mother left. Lizzie gave me a little look of sympathy as she stepped out the door, like you would give to your puppy as you were dropping it off in the kennel. But at the same time, I had this feeling she was trying not to laugh. Then Lizzie was gone, and Mom yelled some more. She told me that, since I kept getting hurt whenever I tried to go anywhere, I was grounded until I “earned back her trust.” I tried pointing out to her that I had actually injured my forehead while closed up in the safety of my own room, but it didn’t matter.
    When your mom is as ridiculously overprotective as mine, nothing you say matters.
    My nose was throbbing. I always hated to let my mom know I was in pain, because I didn’t want her to decide I needed emergency surgery every time I had a hangnail, but I gave in this time and asked her for some aspirin. She told me that aspirin thins the blood, so she couldn’t give it to me while I was bleeding. So I staggered upstairs to my room with a gigantic handful of tissues and a baggie full
of ice cubes, and lay down on my bed. Staring over the ice bag at