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than Matthew, I was nimble over the rough ground. But Matthew must’ve grown an additional foot since then.
    On our very first day at school, getting changed for gym, every boy in the locker room had stolen a look at the small nest of hair between Matthew’s legs, something noticeably absent from our own bodies. And now that hair was thicker still, not only between Matthew’s legs but below his knees as well. There was even a hint of mustache above his top lip, Matthew’s whole body bursting with the strength of Samson.
    Which meant now I wasn’t sure whether I was faster than Matthew. I was running flat out through the stifling heat, hoping that my advantage still held, pushing my smooth hairless legs as hard as I could.
    The trail to our secret spot carried you on a thin path that ran along the top of Swangum Ridge. To my right the ground fell away steeply to a valley with Sunset Ridge on the other side but thatwas nothing compared to the sheer drop to my left, a cliff face that ran straight down to the Hudson Valley. It must have been more than a thousand feet, the valley floor below nothing but haze.
    Even walking that path was tricky, so running was downright dangerous. The topsoil was thin, the trail a tangle of tree roots, an assault course of half-buried rocks. But I sprinted as fast as I could and despite the danger and my fear of Matthew, I remember feeling exhilarated, my lungs sparkling with life, my body performing at its absolute peak for that first quarter mile, when suddenly a bad thought leapt into my head.
    Maybe I could get to Hannah first but even if I won this race, what then? Matthew wasn’t going to offer me a gentlemanly handshake. You win, Tricky, well done. We play by your rules now.
    Now I was thinking too hard about this problem and the overthinking was hindering my movement. My stride was losing its focus and I could feel my uncertainties mixing together, frothing up like the insides of a bottle rocket. How close was he now?
    I believe I can actually remember thinking the words don’t turn around but it’s like that old thing about being told not to think of a white cat. Instantly you go ahead and think of a damned white cat.
    It was only a glance, a quick peek over my shoulder, but one glance was enough. I went down hard like the sprung bar of a mousetrap.
    I don’t know what it was my skull thudded into, tree or root or rock. All I remember is the sense that my head felt made of stone in the moment of impact.
    *   *   *
    EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR WHEN I awoke. And then blur turned to treetops and sky sliding by. Matthew was pulling me off the trail by my arms.
    At the point where I’d tripped, the path ran maybe thirty feet in from the edge of Swangum Ridge but I’d fallen close to a spur, one of several along the way that would bring you right up to theedge of the cliff for the panoramic view. He was dragging me along one of those spurs.
    Everything hurt. I let out a moan and Matthew let go of me, the pain shooting higher as my hands smashed down against rock and my head hit the ground. That’s when I noticed a sharp damp pain in the back of my head, my skull singing high notes.
    Now Matthew was on me, pinning my wrists, straddling me the way he sometimes did if he wanted me to cry uncle in a play fight, threatening to make me eat grass or dirt or a live frog. As he glanced around, wiping his mouth, I thought I could see all the thoughts spinning behind his eyes like the wheels of a slot machine.
    All you ever do is watch, Tricky, he said, not sounding mad at me, just weary. You stand to one side, watching and watching like a statue. You think because you didn’t join in, that’s OK? You’re off the hook?
    I didn’t say anything, staring at him as I tried to think away the pain.
    So you’re telling me the first time you ever decide to do something is when it’s too late? When it screws me over and screws you