I picked up the phone on his desk and called my best friend, Lydia.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hannah? Oh my God. How did it go? I’ve been dying. Nigel said he’d call me, but he—”
“You won’t believe this,” I said.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“I can see,” I said. “The surgery worked.”
She gasped. A huge, loud gasp. I heard something fall over on her end.
“That’s incredible! Hannah! That’s—oh my God. Can you see right now? What are you looking at?”
I looked down at the yellowed piece of notebook paper in my hand.
“It was Nigel,” I said flatly.
“What do you mean? Of course it was Nigel. He did the surgery.”
“No. I mean it was Nigel. He’s the boy, Lyd. The boy who pushed me off the swing. He’s the reason I’m blind. And he knew. He knew the whole time. For twenty-two years.”
