Play it cool.

"I broke Kevin's arm and his mom comes to confront me instead of his dad?" you ask. "No wonder he's such a fuckin' pussy."

"My husband's... very busy," Mrs Reed replies. You sense anger and frustration behind her words, not directed at you. "Besides, I can handle you by myself."

"Oh I'm sure you can," you grin. "But you've got it all wrong. Kevin's the one who attacked me. I was just defending myself."

"You're lying," she says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "My son would never resort to ****."

Usually, she'd be right, but this time, you were speaking the truth. That dumbass tried to stand up for himself but didn't stand a chance against someone 100 pounds heavier and stacked like a Greek God.

"I'll admit, I did provoke him," you explain. "We were in the locker room and I made a comment about how embarrassed he must be of that little pea-shooter in his pants compared to mine. So he got up in my face and I had to protect myself. Unfortunately, with all the benches and dirty clothes around, he took an unfortunate fall and broke his arm."

That last bit was a lie. You slammed him so hard into a locker that the door broke off its hinges. Mrs Reed stands there for a moment, trying to work out whether you're telling the truth or not.

"So, do you want to see it?" you ask, breaking her concentration.

"See what?" she asks, completely confused.