Billy was quiet for a long moment, like he changed his mind about answering. But eventually he wet his lips, and he looked at a space between them, a thousand yards away.

"I was in group homes when I couldn't get into foster care. There was a guy that would come around, a volunteer. He'd play pick up games with us, we all thought he was so cool. I guess I was ten, eleven."

He paused; the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like a smile, but there was nothing behind it.

"When a grown man tells you you're pretty, you know there's nothing good coming next." He pulled away a little, rolled onto his back so he could stare at the ceiling. "I went after him with a stickball bat. He got pissed off, broke my arm. Ripped my rotator cuff in three places."