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“You’re lucky it was only this bad. And how are you planning to explain that sling to your parents,
Tony
?”
    “Easy,” he says with a smile. “I’m staying at your house tonight, which is what I already told them anyway.” I feel my jaw tense. I told my parents
I
was staying for dinner at
Ryan’s
house. I hate lying to them anyway, and now I’m going to have to do it again, make some excuse as to why we decided to travel two and a half miles through a dangerous hurricane to get home when they think I’m safe and sound in Fort Greene, eating Mrs. Hendrick’s quinoa salad and playing video games. The fluorescent lights above Ryan’s bed flicker, sending chills down my spine.
    “You’ll still have the sling on tomorrow,” I point out, hoping I can get him to change his mind. But Ryan shakes his head, beaming. He’s already got everything figured out, like always.
    “I’ll ditch the sling, say I fell off my board coming home on Eastern Parkway and felt something pop, and then I’ll go to the orthopedist next week per Dr. Ginger’s orders.” He grins and raises his good hand for a high five, while I fight the powerful urge to slap him in the face.
    “Whatever, man,” I grumble, turning away. In the next room, I can hear someone getting stitches, making little
ah
sounds every time the needle goes in.
    “What, you’re mad at me?” Ryan asks incredulously. “This was
your
idea.”
    “You’re kidding, right? I was
joking
, idiot. Why do you take everything literally?” If we were on
Judge Judy
or something, Ryan could probably get me on a technicality. I
did
say, “Why don’t you go jump that tree?” but only because he kept egging
me
to do it. In front of Polly. I try to mimic the way my dad stares me down when he’s disappointed in me, eyes half-lidded, nostrils flared. It scares me straight each and every time. “Don’t you remember me running after you, trying to stop you?” I ask.
    Ryan shrugs again. “I thought you were showing off.”
    “Yeah, running into traffic is my signature move when there’s a cute girl nearby,” I joke.
    “Sorry,” he says with a laugh. “I didn’t mean to ruin your game.”
    “No game to ruin, my friend.”
    “But on the plus side, Mr. Jadhav hates you now, so you’ve got bad-boy cred.”
    I have to laugh; this is true. Polly’s dad happened to arrive at the curb to pick her up just as Ryan was making his swanlike descent onto the sidewalk, which was convenient as far as rides to the hospital go, but not so convenient in terms of my chances with his daughter. “Do you
know
these boys?” he kept asking Polly angrily on the drive over, as if we were two homeless crackheads she found on the street. I don’t think she looked up from her lap the whole time. It was brutal.
    “You’re right,” I say to Ryan. “I should be thanking you.” I reach out and bat his stupid cowlick off his forehead, the closest I can bring myself to a show of affection right now. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go call my mom and lie for you—
again
. Meet me outside in five minutes.”
    I push through the curtain, reaching into the pocket of my jeans for my cell, and am almost at the exit when I feel my stomach slosh and realize I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a bank of elevators and decide to hop down to the cafeteria for a muffin or something before facing my mother’s third degree.
    Like I said, it’s crazy how one tiny decision can spin out and change everything.

Chapter 3
    D
evorah
    A UGUST 28, 7:30 PM
    M y niece’s name is Liya. Liya Sara Kleinman, after our late paternal grandmother and Jacob’s late maternal grandmother, because in our tradition it’s bad luck to name a baby after anyone living. (It’s also bad luck to announce the name of a baby girl before her
simchat bat
, or naming ceremony, but Rose was too excited and out of it to keep the secret from me, and I’m glad.) Liya weighs four pounds,