Bennett’s mother slapped his fingers away from the bandage. “Stop scratching.” Her eyes never left the road.<\/p>\n
“It itches!” Bennett tugged his sleeve down, using the motion to disguise another quick scratch.<\/p>\n
“Should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?” She steered through a turn with the palm of one hand, twisting the dial on the car radio through music and static with the other.<\/p>\n
Bennett didn’t answer, but the truth was that he had thought of it. So had Scott. But when they got to the double-doors of McPherson’s Mill, boarded up nearly twenty years before but still a magnet for local kids, neither of the boys had cared. It had seemed worth the risk.<\/p>\n
Even with his right arm bandaged from fingertips to elbow and Scott in the ICU for at least another week, Bennett was still convinced it was.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Bennett’s mother slapped his fingers away from the bandage. “Stop scratching.” Her eyes never left the road. Continue reading