Don’t know what time I walked till last night, or what time I woke and started this morning. Figure it took about eleven hours to get here. It’ll take longer getting back—messed-up feet, hungry, thirsty. It’s hotter out.

Walking toward life. Home, school, all that. Heading back. Hours to plan what I’ll tell my dad.

Or so I thought.

Police car veers up. Two beefy blue uniforms come at me. Arms bowed, ready to draw.

“Hey, buddy,” officer says, “you wanna tell us why you’re staggering like that? Where’re you supposed to be?”

Put my hands up in surrender. Don’t shoot!

Wouldn’t it figure? Blam! Blam! Game over. Now that I’m ready to play?

Sarah

Punishment Poem

’Tis a lie to pretend that I read the text.

’Tis a lie as well for which I’m hexed.

For I do NOT know the sea from land,

I’d still be lost with map in hand.

For I did not cram

For this exam.

You bet I regret not doing the work,

And now I feel like a total jerk.

But that’s not punishment enough!

It must be meaner! Must be rough!

Unless I rat, I’ll have to roast.

Tattle or I’m freaking toast!

But though you burn me as a witch,

You gots to know: I ain’t no snitch!

Rob

Imagining neighbors peeking through curtains. Muriel and Mike’s son Rob, brought home in a squad car.

“I knew that one would come to no good,” Mrs. Whatsername on the corner’ll say.

“Yup,” the shriveled one agrees. “Always was a bad seed. Broke my window with a baseball, twice!”

Poor Ma. She’ll hate this.

Pull up behind a strange car in the driveway. Whose? People on the porch. Katie? Katie and her mom? Selling Girl Scout cookies? Nah, that was years ago.

Ma pushes past them, racing down the walk, arms out. Cops open the door for me—mine has no inside handles.

Ma hugs me, crying. When did she get so short?

Over her head I see Dad come out the screen door. Katie and her mom slip into the neighbors’ yard.

My father doesn’t come any closer.

Ma invites the officers in for cake. They say no, thanks. Get back in their car, drive quietly away. Only voices left are sparrows in the roof tile.

Ma takes my arm. We go up the walk.

I clear my throat. “Why was Katie here?”

Ma whispers, “She told us.”

“About the test?” I ask. “She told both of you?”

Ma nods.

“She told you I got in trouble?” I ask to be sure.

Ma pats my arm. “We’re just glad you’re home and all right.”

The expression on my father’s face is unreadable. Doesn’t move or speak. We walk past him into the house. He seems smaller too. Shorter.