"What's that on your arm?"
I pushed the sleeve of my cardigan down and watched as Angela prowled towards me. Tensed, I took a step back but hit the low wall behind me.
"Nothing," I answered.
She glowered at me. "That's not nothing." Grabbing my arm, she pushed my sleeve up to reveal a dark, ugly bruise. "Again? You got hurt again? What the hell happened to you this time?"
"I slipped."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"It's Miss Hans' fault," I blurted. "She made me go and carry pots in the gardens again. I swear she still hates me."
Angela blinked.
Then she said, "Oh, come on. She can't possibly still be mad at you for knocking her glass figurine off her desk."
I solemnly nodded. "I can still hear her scream of pure rage."
Heaving a sigh, she put her hands on her hips. "I should report
