I was thinking so hard I didn't hear anyone showing up, but I'm scrambling up to my feet and a few feet back so fast I bet it'd make those mooks from the neighborhood's heads spin.

This guy- this boy- probably isn't much older than me. He still outweighs me and towers over me. I know perfectly well how small I am, but that doesn't mean spit in the end. I can't let it.

He's not being mean, although he's got a kind of swagger in him and a knife hanging on his belt. I glance at it nervously, but keep my ground.

"Just fine, thank you," I tell him, realizing what my face must look like, and quick as I can scrubbing the back of my wrist across it, hoping to smudge out the evidence of the crying. I bet it doesn't work. I drop the hand real fast, though, just in case.... Just in case.

"This house yours?"