Start to trudge home, slow heavy legs. But don’t turn right on Denver. Keep straight.

Past the park.

Mall after mall.

An overpass way out there.

It gets dark. No plan, just following my feet. Due north, one foot, the other.

Ma will be worried. Should stop, call home. Intend to, in a minute. At the next phone booth, or the one after that.

Notice the perfection of the half-moon.

Backpack gets heavy. Dig in all the pockets looking for something to eat. Find gum. Ditch the rest of the pack behind a bush. Keep walking.

Concentrating on my thoughts. Hypnotized blank by the slap, slap of soles on sidewalk. Stumble across a street. Cars screech, honk.

Wouldn’t be all bad if their brakes fail. If one hits me, would take care of everything, for good.

Katie

I couldn’t believe Sarah thought I’d betrayed her. HOW could she think that? I consider her my very closest friend. It’s true that our relationship isn’t all cookies and cream, but I’ve always thought we were pretty close. Wrong AGAIN?

After Sarah and her mum left me, I wandered the halls feeling b-a-d. A) HURT that Sarah could think so little of me. B) SCARED that she might not get over it and our friendship would be finished, kaput, the end. Then C) MAD for being wrongly accused.

Hurt, scared, mad, hurt, scared, mad. Around and around in dreadful little circles like a snake choking on its tail. YEECH!

Plus, fourth hour had started, and I didn’t have an excuse or a hall pass.

I peeked into Ms. Divan’s office. Ever since my dad passed away, she had been more like a friend than just a guidance counselor. But there was someone else in her office. All I could see was the back of the other girl’s head, so I don’t know who it was.

A little clump of jealousy stuck in my throat, but I swallowed it down, reminding myself that A) Ms. Divan is SUPPOSED to be nice to other kids besides me, that’s her JOB! And B) What would I have told her anyway? That I’d been planning to cheat but chickened out? That I felt guilty for NOT cheating???

Ms. Divan looked at me over the other girl’s head. She gave me a tiny smile and tilted her head in a way that meant, “Come back later.” But I knew I wouldn’t.

I slipped into class, trying to look pinkish—hoping Mr. Bowers would think I had some unmentionable bathroom-related reason for being tardy. Then I spent the rest of the hour slumped in a lump, wondering if Sarah really, REALLY thought I had turned her in.