Aftermath
I awoke in the Dean’s office. Somehow I’d been carried or helped into the office and onto a long black leather couch. I didn’t remember any of it. I was covered in a blanket and there was something cold on my wrist. I moved to sit up but two hands restrained me. I looked up and saw Dr. Kavanaugh’s face. Up close he wasn’t scary at all.
“Lie back and rest, Philip,” he said. “I’ve called your mother and she’s taking you to your doctor.”
“I…I don’t understand. Where’s my friend? Where’s Smith?”
“He’s fine and sporting a rather nice black eye I’m sure he’ll be proud of for some days to come.”
I pulled the blanket up to my chin. My wrist was killing me. The pain came back tenfold. “What did he do?”
“Molinara?” he said. “Well, I think he may have broken your wrist. You’ll get an
