Jonathan Goldstein

You know that, right?

As we drive to meet Tessa, I ask Skye how she's doing.

Nervous-sided is a portmanteau word, like the way, say, romance, a word denoting an incestuous relationship between brothers is, or chillax, the act of chilling out with a bar of family-sized ex-lax.

Clark is 11 years old.

In the comic books he reads, that's how problems are solved, with punches, kung fu chops.

Writing the scales is a simpler business.

It's one thing to hear stories about his mom being stepped on.

It's another to be in the same room with one of the people who did the stepping.

Skye tries to tamp down his need for revenge.

I wanted a quiet place for Skye and Tessa to talk, and it turned out that on the weekends, the local university had an unoccupied studio.

We pull into the empty campus parking lot.

Let's get set up.

So this is where Clark and I will sit.

The studio's only big enough for Skye and Tessa, so Clark and I sit in the control booth, where we'll be able to eavesdrop on the conversation.

There's a mic, so should the need arise, Clark can offer guidance that only Skye can hear through her headphones.

Okay, so you turn it on.

Sandy, the studio technician, helps us get set up and takes a level on Skye's voice by asking her an easy, neutral question.

Tell me, how was the ride in today?

You don't have to shout into it.

Laugh it up, Sandy, the studio technician.