Photo by Michael G on Unsplash
Fifty dollars stuck to the whiteboard. She frowns at my frown as if I have no right to be mad. I hate her right now. “Do we have a problem?” “No Miss Brushtin.” Heat rises up my neck. The sounds from my classmates are ricocheting around me. She has no idea what she’s done. “Perhaps we better step into another room?” she points to the small space between our classroom and the next. The talk. I don’t want it. I know her mind is made up, and the moment she sends that email to my dad I am dead meat. I crouch in the corner of the triangular room, burying myself in pillows. “I’d appreciate you look at me when we talk.” Why would I want to look at her? She waits, her arms crossed. I know I’ll win the silent game; she can’t leave the class for long. Already I can hear Danny shouting across the room and I see Miss Brushtin’s mouth twitch in irritation. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on then I’m going to have to form my own conclusions.” “You don’t get it,” “I can’t hear you when you speak into the pillow.” “He’s going to ground me!” I shout. “Well,” she says carefully, “if you’ve done something wrong then perhaps that’s a fair consequence.” I gasp and start choking on my phlegm and tears. Okay, maybe I’m hamming it up a little but I’ll do anything to get that fifty back. It’s literally life or death but she wouldn’t understand. She holds out tissues and tells me to take some deep breaths. Screw her breathing! This is an emergency. I snatch the tissue box and start belting it across my forehead. “Stop it, stop it!” She wrenches it from me and I sink my head into my hands. I don’t know if it’s the sobbing or head whacking that does it, but she finally agrees to let me be the one to tell my dad. She’ll be checking tomorrow to see that I did. I’ll have to think of something good. He said that if Bitsy got out one more time it was over. And I can trust him not to lie. After school I grab the fifty and pedal as fast as my legs will allow. I need to get to the pound before close. I need to get Bitsy home before my dad arrives. A gruff guy with mutton chops takes me out the back. The money shakes in my hand but he’s not ready to take it. There is yelping and barking all around. I peer urgently into each cage. It’s the last in the row and my beating heart feels like it could burst. There he is, my four-legged friend, throwing himself at the cage door. “Bitsy!” I shout. He licks my fingers in gratitude as I clutch the bars in one hand and thrust the fifty-dollar note at the ranger.
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What's this about?Did I say I love writing? I think I did. Here are some of my short stories that I'd love you to read. Archives
January 2022
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