Chapter 9
MAGGIE
Bronwyn pressed a baggie of ice to Nico’s face. He winced, cracking open a cut on his lip which began to bleed again. She tsked.
We were in Nico’s “apartment,” which was one big room above the gym floor. He had a dresser with a fat TV on top, the kind I hadn’t seen since I was a kid at my grandma’s house. There was also a small fridge and a rusty sink. Shelves covered the empty wall space, full of books, baskets, clothes, shoes, dishes, as if he had a whole houseful of stuff crammed into one room. Bronwyn and Nico were sitting on a low bed, and I perched on the corner of a wooden rocking chair. Sitting in these always made me think I should be knitting something, not that I knew how.
“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?” I asked, grimacing at Nico’s beat-up face, the red
