Dany takes the bottle of sanitizer from her aunt and cleans her hands. Then she turns to her teacher. He isn’t going to like this.
“I’m sorry, Faraday,” Dany says. “But this might sting.”
He shakes his head, but Dany lifts the blood-soaked blanket and, as fresh blood oozes out, Dany squirts alcohol gel directly into the wound. A dollop on her hands too, for good measure.
A beat later, the car is swerving in time with his ratcheting screams.
“Eyes on the road,” Dany calls out. “Faraday’s fine. He can handle it.”
And then Aunt Norah presses a new ball of blanket against her teacher’s shoulder. Her aunt talks quietly to him, gently touching his hair, but Faraday is done. Dany can see that he is done. As Dany watches, whimpering, her history teacher squeezes his eyes shut.
Finally,
