"How did that happen, Beluchi?" the maths teacher asks.

"Martin."

"Hm?"

"You're not even pronouncing my first name right, and I like my middle name better. Martin."

"All right, Martin. How did you get this bruise?"

"Ran into a doorknob."

"What about that one?"

"Tripped. I have velcro shoes now though and Mum thinks that might help."

"What about the cut on your knee?"

"I tripped then too only I was holding scissors."

"Be- Martin, you realize this is a lot of injuries, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Is anyone at home hurting you, Martin?"

"...Huh?"

"Is your mum, or maybe an aunt or uncle or grandparent -"

"What?"

"Now, calm down and don't shout, it's -"

"She never! She would never! I fall! Ask the phys ed teacher, ask anybody, she never ever! Not even if I drive her barmy staying up late reading or not eating my spinach never don't you dare talk about my mum like that -"

"Martin -"

"And don't interrupt me!"

"Martin. I had to ask," says the maths teacher. "I'll talk to the phys ed teacher, okay? And the school nurse - do you fall at school, too?"

"Sure. I walk. I got the cut at school, I don't have to scissor anything at home and -"

"Okay."

"Don't interrupt me it's rude -"

"Martin, stop talking back, or I'll send you to the headmaster's office."

Martin snorts derisively. "Can I go? My mum never."

"Yes," sighs the teacher. "You can go have recess now."

Martin opens the door out of the office. That was probably a little louder than the teacher had originally intended; any stragglers still in the classroom and not on the playground may have heard the entire thing.