On the U-Bahn back to their neighborhood, sitting side by side, Parker stares out the window. “I want you to write down my cell number,” Zan says. Not turning from the window, after a moment Parker says, “Why?”
The father pulls from the boy’s coat pocket a blue marker. “Does this write?”
Parker takes off the top and slashes the marker down the back of his father’s hand, leaving a hostile blue streak. “It writes,” he snarls.
The father looks at his hand and the evidence of the boy’s assault. “O.K. So take down this number.”