“What’s going on, boy?” It didn’t even occur to me to lie and say I’d come to fetch a ball.
I bolted and jumped into the ditch with a splash. But something else was waiting for me there.
A pain so intense that I almost screamed, but if I screamed I’d get beaten twice: first, because I’d left the backyard when I was grounded,
and second, because I’d been stealing guavas from the neighbour and had just managed to get a shard of glass in my left foot.
Still giddy with pain, I tugged at the glass. I moaned quietly and saw the blood swirling into the dirty water in the ditch.
What now? My eyes brimming with tears, I managed to remove the glass, but I had no idea how to staunch the flow of blood.
I was squeezing my ankle hard to ease the pain. I had to stay strong.
Night had almost fallen, and with it, Father, Mother and Lalá would arrive home.
If any of them caught me they’d beat me. Or they’d each beat me separately.
I climbed over the barrier and hopped over to my orange tree, where I sat down.
It still hurt a lot, but I didn’t feel like I was going to be sick any more.
“Look, Pinkie.” Pinkie was horrified. He was like me—he didn’t like the sight of blood.
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