“Something weird happened at school today,” I said as I stirred the ketchup and onion soup mix into the skillet. Gram had never given me a single piece of advice worth remembering, and as I started to speak I already knew it was a mistake, but I had to talk to someone about Milla. “Milla Swanson got hurt in gym.”

“Uh-huh,” Gram said without taking her eyes off the television.

“I mean, like hurt pretty bad. I think she was unconscious for a while. A head injury.”

“Mmm.”

“But I… well, I think I might have… um. The thing is, I just wanted to help, you know? Because Ms. Turnbull went to call and-”

“What did you say?”

Gram’s voice, sharp and shrill, startled me. I set the spatula into the pan and looked at her. To my surprise she was struggling to push herself out of her chair, grunting with the effort.

“Just that Milla fell off the vault and hit her head.” I went to help Gram. She seized my hands and pulled herself up, her back cracking.

“Was there blood? Skin cut? Bone showing? What did you do?”

Gram’s questions had an edge to them, an urgency I had never heard from her, and I wondered what she knew that I didn’t.

“It wasn’t really any big deal. Just a bump.”

“You said she was unconscious.” There was excitement and accusation in her voice, and her eyes were bright and intent.

“Well, maybe for a minute.”

“And you touched her?”

“Um… yeah.”

“On her head?”

“Well, yes, I mean, first her hands and then, I guess, mostly on her hair.”

“What did you say?”

“What did I say?”

“It’s not a hard question, Hailey. What did you say when you were touching her?”

“I didn’t-I don’t know. I mean, I might have said her name, and something like, ‘Don’t worry,’ or, ‘It’s going to be okay.’ I really don’t remember.”