“What?” I asked, shocked. I had definitely not been expecting that answer. Lionel laughed and nodded. “Yea, my dad cut them clean off.”

                “On purpose?” I asked. Lionel laughed harder and shook his head. “No brah; I didn’t annoy him that much. He was working with some power tools in the garage and I put my hands where I shouldn’t have. Next thing I know, I’m screaming and my dad’s picking up my fingers off the floor.” He shook his head and grinned, as if the memory of it amused him.

                He glanced down at his hands and his fingers twitched and twisted oddly. “They were sewn back on, but they don’t work right anymore. I can’t hold things and I can’t form a fist. It’s why I can’t really fight. My mom calls it a disability.” He shrugged, unconcerned.

                “Did you parents split up after he cut your fingers off?” I asked quietly. He shook his head. “Nah, my dad’s in the basement right now showing Andy Cali’s dad something and having a few beers,” he said and grinned again.

                He leaned back a little, eyeing me curiously. “Your parents split up because your dad caused the accident,” he said. My head snapped up and I glared at him. “Who told you that? My step sister?” He laughed and shook his head.

                “No one told me. I figured it out on my own, and you just confirmed it,” he said, smirking at me. I clenched my fists tightly and looked away from him. “Don’t tell anyone,” I mumbled, the anger draining out of me suddenly. I felt…exhausted.

                Lionel got a thoughtful look on his face. “I can understand how they would divorce, though. My mom wouldn’t talk to my dad for a few months after he cut my fingers off. I was scared of him for a few weeks after I got them sewn back on, but we’re all good now. How did your dad cause the car accident?”

                It was so blunt, it shocked me. “He…ah…he drove drunk,” I said quietly, staring at my hands folded in my lap. “He drank at a party at work and then picked me up from school because I had stayed late that day to make up a test. He swerved and crashed with another driver. My mom divorced him and claimed full custody over me. I haven’t talked to him since. He wasn’t an alcoholic or anything; he just happened to drink that day and thought he was okay to pick me up. I was 12. How old were you when you lost your fingers?”

                Lionel thought back curiously. “I was…12 or 13. I can’t really remember. I think I was 12.” He shrugged.

                I looked at him carefully. So when we were both 12, I lost an eye and he lost a hand. He stared at my bandana and frowned, looking like he was trying to figure something out. “You lost sight in that eye in the accident, didn’t you?”

                “Yea,” I whispered, feeling vulnerable. “Yea, I did. It ain’t pretty.” Lionel jumped down onto the air mattress and slowly moved his hand towards the bandana. His sewn on fingers rested gently on it. I didn’t even care anymore. He could pull it up and disgust himself if he wanted to.

                But he didn’t. Instead, he brought his hand down to gently stroke my face with those sewn on fingers. They felt cold and weak. Lionel carefully avoided touching my scar.

                “Want to go play air hockey?” he asked. I stared at him but nodded, suddenly just wanting to be with him. He was so attractive. He stood up and offered me his good hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet.

                He led me out of his room and downstairs. He took me into his basement and two men glanced at us curiously, beers in their hands as they talked casually.

                “Hi Lionel. Where’s Andy?” a man asked. “Taking a shower, thank god. He smells,” Lionel said with a grin, leading me over to an air hockey table near the men. He turned it on and grabbed the puck, setting it on the table.

                “You be nice to my kid, Lionel. He could be moving to this town in a few months,” the man said, an amused look on his face. “Then I’ll move right back to Florida, Mr. Cali,” Lionel said and shot the puck at me. I hit it back and it slammed into his goal. He frowned. “Damn,” he muttered.

                “Oh yea. EJ, that’s Andy Cali’s dad, Mr. California. And that’s my dad, Mr. Barrios,” he said and jerked his thumb at them. They both gave me polite waves. Lionel looked a shit ton like his dad.

                Lionel reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone with his bad hand. It slipped out of his grip and clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “Dammit,” he grumbled and bent to retrieve it. His fingers pathetically tried to close around it and he sighed and picked it up with his good hand.

                “Don’t worry about it Lionel. We can buy you a new one tomorrow,” his dad, coming over and inspecting the broken screen. “I don’t want another stupid iPhone. I can’t text on it,” he grumbled, and I realized that with his fingers, touch screen was a horrible choice of phone.

                “Okay. You can pick out whatever phone you want,” Mr. Barrios said with a smile, guilt flashing in his eyes. He ruffled Lionel’s hair and motioned for Mr. California to follow him. “We’ll leave you boys alone and send Andy Cali down when he’s ready,” Mr. Barrios said and they went upstairs, leaving us alone in the basement.

                Lionel grabbed his phone with his bad hand and it slipped again, breaking the screen even more as it hit the ground. “Oh fuck it. I didn’t want to text anyway,” he grumbled, not even attempting to pick it up again.

                I walked over and picked it up for him, still feeling exhausted. He took it in his good hand and set it down on the edge of the air hockey table.

                “My dad likes to spoil me because he feels bad. I guess he didn’t think about the fact that I can’t text on a touch phone with my bad hand, and can’t hold it to text with my good hand,” he said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

                He glanced at me and I sighed. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Only my step sister and Brewer know what happened and the fact that I’m blind in that eye,” I whispered.

                Lionel grinned. “I think I’ve got you figured out, EJ. And I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.” His voice sounded amused. I looked down at him, frowning. “What?” I asked in confusion. “I thought maybe you were a badass just to be a badass, brah. Ah well. Don’t change anything,” he said. “What do you mean ‘don’t change anything’?” I asked, utterly lost at this point. He grinned wider and then leaned forward, deeply pressing his lips to mine.