Chapter 10“Of course I didn’t kill somebody. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” Badger wiped his hands on his jeans, looking annoyed.
“Then why’s there blood all over you?”
“’Cause I just left half my palms all over Huntington Ave.”
I hugged myself against the breeze and looked to his bike, propped outside my building, front wheel twisted like a taco shell. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“Were you hit by a car?”
“You gonna invite me in or what?”
“Sorry.” I flattened myself against the mailboxes, and Badger carried his bicycle up the steps so I could lock the door behind us.
The Badger was in my kitchen, and it was like suddenly having a real badger in there, like, Oh s**t, this can’t be good.
He leaned his bike against my cheap wire shelves and crouched to assess its injuries.
“
