Page 14 of Coached By the Grumpy Gargoyle

A tiny sound out of him. Not a laugh. A cousin of one, maybe. Generously speaking.

“Can I see?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Then it’ll be a quick look.”

His fingers tighten in the towel, and his eyes flick toward the door. I stay where I am. The fluorescent tube buzzes overhead while I wait, my travel mug balanced against my knee.

The towel comes down.

His nose has been bleeding hard, crusted dark around one nostril and still seeping at the rim. His lower lip is split, swollen, a blood-dark line through the middle of it. The towel in his fist is blotched red going brown.

For a second, I can’t stop looking at his mouth. That’s going to hurt every time he eats, every time he speaks. He’s been sitting in this cold room trying to hide it, and I want to get my hands on whoever did this.

Eli starts lifting the towel again. I bring my gaze back to his eyes and keep my voice gentle.

“Okay,” I say. “That looks sore. The nurse’s office has ice packs.”

“No.” Fast. Too fast. “No, it’s... it’s stopping. It’s fine.”

“Okay. We can stay here for a minute.” I let a beat go by. “Eli. Who did this?”

He looks down at the towel.

“Nobody.”

“Nobody has quite a swing on him.”

The corner of his mouth tries to lift and he winces, pressing the towel back against his lip. I wish I hadn’t made him try to smile.

“I fell,” he tells the floor. “In the locker room. It’s slippery.”

“In the locker room?”

“Yeah.”

“Was anyone with you when you fell?”

Silence. His thumb picks at the towel’s hem. He looks toward the door again, then back at me. His chin is starting to tremble.

“You don’t have to tell everyone,” I say quietly. “You can start with me. Just so you’re not trying to handle this on your own.”

For one second the wobble almost wins. His chin goes. His breath drags in wet and shaky, and I stay exactly where I am, waiting for him to speak.

“Please, Ms. Hale.” Barely a whisper. “Please don’t make it a thing. If it’s a thing, it gets worse.”

Worse. His lip is split, his nose is bleeding, and he’s afraid this could get worse. I want to tell him it won’t. I want to promise that if he just gives me a name, I can make this stop.

But he’s watching me with those huge, frightened eyes, waiting to find out what I’ll do.

“Okay,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me right now.”

Out in the building the first bell buzzes, harsh, and Eli scrambles to his feet. He tugs his hood forward and pushes his glasses straight with one knuckle. I stand too, moving back to give him room to pass.

Then he pauses, looks at the towel balled in his fist like he’s only now remembering it exists. He lifts the lid off one of the bins on the steel shelving, shoves the towel down beneath the banner paper, and puts the lid back. I look from the bin to his face.

“Thanks, Ms. Hale.” He doesn’t look at me. “I’m okay. Really.”