ARIA
The next morning, Uncle Barty drops me off in front of the university, as he usually parks his car in the back. "Here you go. Enjoy your classes, alright? And don't forget to come see me for lunch."
"I will," I reply before reaching for my bag, which I've placed by my feet. Suddenly, he grabs my wrist and I snap my head in his direction, alarmed.
"What's that?" he demands, his voice laced with concern.
"What?" I ask right before I realize what he's talking about.
My palms.
Although they've healed fairly quickly, there are still light red scratches on them, and to the expert eye—and an expert in injuries he is, considering the stuff he sees every day—this is unmissable.
"When did you hurt yourself? What happened?"
"Don't worry about it, Unc. I'm fine."
He gives me The Co
