A Child’s Courage
Ivy pulled off her worn denim jacket and pressed it carefully against the worst of the bleeding on his head. The fabric soaked through almost instantly, and for a brief dizzy moment she almost pulled away.
But he made a low sound in his throat, and that reminded her this wasn’t something on a screen. This was real. A person. Hurt. Still alive.
So she pressed down harder.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He frowned as if the question itself didn’t belong here.
“What?”
“My mom says you keep people talking when they’re hurt. So what’s your name?”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said, “Grim.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes.
“That sounds made up.”
One corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“It’s the only one I use.”
“Well, I’m Ivy Mercer—” She paused, corrected herself. “Ivy Vega. I’m nine, and I’m going to be a doctor one day, so you need to cooperate.”
A broken laugh slipped out of him before he winced.
“Bossy little thing.”
“My teacher says leadership is a gift.”
That earned a real laugh from him—thin, but genuine.
Ivy glanced up the road and spotted an old pay phone outside a closed service station. It looked abandoned, but it was something.
“I have to call for help,” she said.
His eyelids lowered slightly.
“They won’t get here fast enough.”
“Yes, they will.”
She held out her smallest finger, already stained faintly.
“Promise me you’ll stay awake until I get back.”
He stared at her hand.
There they were: a child in a school uniform and a feared biker bleeding in a ditch, making a pinky promise under a California sky.
Slowly, with visible effort, he lifted his hand and hooked his finger around hers.
“I promise,” he whispered.
“Don’t break it.”
“I know the rules.”
She nodded once—and ran.
