583495793235

preparing for a bout. He’s trying to draw his dad’s attention away from his mom. It works.
His dad lunges at him fist first. Olly dodges right and then left. He hops backward down
the porch steps just as his dad swings again. His dad misses, and momentum sends him
tripping down the steps. He lands in a sprawl on the concrete driveway and doesn’t move.
Olly grows still. His mom claps both hands over her mouth. My mom wraps an arm
around my shoulder. I press my forehead to the glass and grip the windowsill. All of our
eyes are on his dad. The moment stretches out. Every second he doesn’t move is a terrible
relief.
His mom is the first to break. She hurries down the steps, crouches down next to him,
runs her hand down his back. Olly gestures for her to get away, but she ignores him. She
leans in closer just as his dad flips over onto his back. He snatches her wrist in his big,
cruel hands. Face triumphant, he hoists her hand up in the air like it’s a trophy that he’s
won. He pulls himself to standing and drags her up with him.
Again, Olly rushes between them, but this time his dad is ready. Quicker than I’ve ever
seen him move, he lets go of Olly’s mom, grabs the collar of Olly’s shirt, and punches him
in the stomach.
His mom screams. Then I’m screaming, too. He punches him again.
I don’t see what happens next because I pull away from my mom and I’m running. I
don’t think; I just move. I fly out of the room and down the hall. I’m through the air lock
and out the door in no time at all.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get to him.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to protect him.
I sprint across our grass to the edge of the lawn closest to Olly’s house. His father is
lunging for him again when I scream, “STOP!”
They both freeze momentarily in place and look at me, shocked. His dad’s drunkenness
catches up to him. He stumbles back up the steps and into the house. His mom follows.
Olly bends over, holding his stomach.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He looks up at me, his face morphing from pain to confusion to fear.
“Go. Go back,” he says.
My mom grabs my arm and tries to pull me away. I’m vaguely aware that she’s
hysterical. She’s stronger than I would’ve thought, but my need to see Olly is stronger.
“Are you all right?” I cry out again, unmoving.
He straightens up slowly, gingerly, like something hurts, but the pain doesn’t show on
his face.
“Mads, I’m OK. Go back. Please.” The full weight of our feeling for each other hangs
between us.
“I promise I’m OK,” he says again, and I let myself be pulled away.