erases the board,
waters the plants,
feeds Scurvy,
our hermit crab,
then stands in front of us.
She watches the door
until Mr. Turinsky, our principal,
comes in.
Everyone sits up straight.
Ms. Dryden clasps her hands
tight.
”Thank you for being here, Mr. Turinsky.”
He nods to her.
She turns to us.
”Chris Crow is missing.”
”Missing?” asks Buffy.
”He’s been—,” Ms. Dryden starts.
”Kidnapped?” asks Rock.
Ms. Dryden takes a big breath.
”Yes, last Wednesday, before Thanksgiving.
”But,” adds Mr. Turinsky, ”right now,
I want you each to know
you are safe here.
Our school is a safe place.”
”But I heard
Chris got kidnapped
at his bus stop,” says Juan Carlos.
Ms. Dryden looks at the ceiling.
Mr. Turinsky shoves his hands into his pockets.
No one says a thing,
but everyone sneaks scaredy peeks
at Chris’s desk.
Not Supposed To
We aren’t supposed to have prayer in school
so we have a moment of silence for Chris.
I’m thinking there’s praying going on
for him anyway,
and a lot of thanks going up
that it wasn’t us
kidnapped.
Bogus
”This is so bogus,” says Rock.
”Excuse me?”
Ms. Dryden
shoots a warning look at him.
It doesn’t stop him. “The police should have
hit the media last Wednesday.
You know, using the AMBER Plan.
Then everyone in radio and TV
would have worked together right away
to say Chris was kidnapped.
Even the electronic road signs
would have run the info.
People could have found out fast
and kept a lookout.
Kids get found quick with the AMBER Plan.
What a waste
the cops didn’t use it.”
”Well, son,” Mr. Turinsky says, stepping forward,
”the police believed the situation was a
runaway scenario. Not a kidnapping.”
”Yeah, well. That’s lame.”
Mr. Turinsky and Ms. Dryden
just stare at Rock.
He always knows about crime stuff.
He watches detective shows
and wants to be a forensic scientist.
Rock shoves his chair back.
”You’ve got to catch the kidnapper
within a day or two
or chances of survival are nil.”
”That’s enough for now.”
Ms. Dryden glares at Rock.
”Thank you for coming, Mr. Turinsky.
We all appreciate your time.”
She guides him to the door.
”I’m right, you know,” Rock says to us.
Sure we know.
But who wants to hear it?
Heading Out for Recess
”I can’t believe it.”
”Me either.”
”Creepy!”
”It makes me so scared.”
”Yeah.”
”Man.”
”I can’t believe it.”
How’s It Feel?
No one wants to be alone.
All Chris’s friends
are under the basketball hoop.
But no one is shooting.
There are small circles of kids
all over the playground.
”I wonder what it feels like,” says Wally.
”Just stop,” Buffy whines.
”No, I’m thinking
like my drama teacher says to.
When things happen
we’re supposed to check how it feels
in case we ever have to act out something like it.”
”It feels scary,” says Buffy.
I nod.
”Yeah, and that’s how we feel here
at school.” Wally looks us each in the eye.
”But what does Chris feel right now?”
”Freaking scared. Completely mad. Totally sad,”
I answer.
Everyone
stares at me.
Theirs
What was Thanksgiving like
for Chris’s family
when he was already missing
a day,
and no one else but the police knew it?
I bet there was no Thanksgiving at all
at their house.
I got to have Thanksgiving.
The Big Question to Me
Why did the police
think Chris was a runaway?
What was going on at his house?
Everything sure seemed normal
about Chris.
But I guess you never know
what’s really going on
inside families’ homes.
The Truth
Wally and I
walk to the parking lot.
”I’m so scared
of getting kidnapped,” I say.
”I know what you mean.
But come on, Essie.”
He brushes his hand against mine.
”It’s not like two kids
from the same class
would ever get taken.
The odds are so off.”
Yeah. Wally is way smart.
”And besides,” he says,
grinning and shifting his books,
”who would ever want us?”
He is so right.
He climbs into his dad’s car.
Waiting for Mom
”Es, Es!”
Dale runs up.
”I heard a kid in your class
was kidnapped!”
”Yeah,” I say.
”Whoa! I wonder who got him,
and if they had a gun,
or tied him up, or—”
”Stop!”
I glare at him.
For once,
he actually does.
She Heard
”Estele! Dale!”
Mom pulls us
into the front seat of the car
right next to her.
She squashes us and smothers us with kisses.
”Oh, oh,” she keeps saying.
She starts bawling,
and we start sniffling.
”Get the seat belt on,” she says
and rubs her belly of baby.
We ride all the way home
snuggly tight.
And I don’t even mind
how Dale’s shoulder
pushes warm against mine.
Washing the Car
Dale sprays me with the hose.
”Stop! ”I yell,
but I’m laughing.
Mom slides the sopping sponge
across the hood to me.
I splatter him with it.
”Woooo, that’s cold!”
He cracks up.
Mom takes the hose
and sprays it straight up into the air.
Doozerdude and I
twirl under the rainbows
together,
and Mom smiles.
Publix
Dale pushes the cart
into my heel.
”Stop!” I hiss.
He smiles
and does it again.
Mom looks up
from her list.
”Both of you, knock it off.”
He sticks his tongue out
at me.
I stick my nose in the air.
Dale grabs some ju
nk cereal.
”Can we? Can we have this, Mommy?”
”No.” She pulls it out of his grip
and puts it back.
That’s the whole rest
of our shopping time in Publix.
Can we, can we, can we—no.
No to the cookies.
She drops white rice in the cart.
No to the juice boxes,
and she drops milk in.
No to the chips,
and she drives on to the dried beans and peas.
”Yuck!” Dale and I mouth to each other
at check out.
Putting Away
We pull into our driveway.
Dale launches out of the car
and dive-bombs his friend Mike,
who’s walking by.
The two laugh and wrestle in the front yard.
”Stay where I can see you,” calls Mom.
”Yup,” he shouts back.
Mom and I heft in the groceries.
Figures Dale gets out of the work.
Mom makes room
in the dried-stuff drawer.
She tugs out
the bag of peanuts
and drops it on the floor.
There isn’t enough space
with the beans and rice.
I poke the peanuts with my foot.
”What should I do with these, Mom?”
”Trash them.”
I do it.
I pick up the bag
and slam it
right down
into the garbage.
I’ve never hated peanuts more.
Marking the Day
When Mom sets the table,
I flip the calendar back down
to November.
There.
The 27th.
With my markers
I draw a yellow spiral
tighter and tighter
in the box.
Then I color a little red spot
in the center.
That’s Chris.
They are going to find him.
I hook December back up.
Mac and Cheese
Dale wants to talk
about kidnapping—
who and how,
where and why.
Mom wants to talk
about safety—
who and how,
where and why.
I want to talk
about the macaroni—
how creamy good it is.
That’s all.
Trying to Protect Us
Dale flicks the TV on,
but Mom grabs the remote
and turns it off
before the picture hardly comes up.
”I wanna see my show,” he whines.
”I don’t think we need any TV tonight, Dale-o.”
”But there might be news on Chris,” I point out.
”I’ll tune in later and let you know.”
She puts the remote on the highest shelf.
Like I couldn’t just hit the button on the TV
if I wanted.
”You’ll sleep better without details
running through your minds,” she says.
Dale and I roll our eyes.
Like we don’t already
have details packed in there.
Tuesday Night Headache
”Here, take this.”
Mom hands me a long white pill.
I just barely swallow it.
She brushes her fingertips
across my forehead.
”I know it hurts, sweetheart.
Don’t talk. Just rest.”
I can hardly nod.
My head thumps
like a railroad spike
is being hammered
into my skull.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
It crams in.
I squeeze my head.
How can it feel so little
and the pain feel
so big?
Seconds
Lying still in bed,
I stare at the rough wall
inches from my nose.
Chris.
Dad.
I’m so scared for Chris.
I hate Dad.
I want to scream,
”Don’t you ever come back!”
But Chris—
maybe he won’t.
If they both don’t come back
in the very next second,
I’m going to shatter
into a million slivers,
and none of my pieces
will end up
touching each other.
Morning
I wet the comb,
dig the teeth into my scalp,
cut a perfect part,
and weave half my hair
into a braid.
One piece
wraps another.
The band snaps
under my fingers.
I drag the comb
through the other side,
divide it
into three sections,
and braid it tight.
There.
I tug them straight.
Something
just right.
She Changes Her Mind
”Was there any news last night, Mom?” I ask
from the backseat.
Mom puts on the ticker and changes lanes.
”Just what we’d already heard.”
”Well I want to watch for myself today.”
”Me too,” says Doozerdude.
She looks at me in the rearview mirror.
”I was thinking. Maybe that is a good idea.”
Yes!
”Maybe it would keep the situation
closer to the facts.
You won’t be tempted to believe rumors
that are sure to fly around the school
if you see the news.”
Whatever. I just want to know
what everyone else does.
My Turn
Each of us
goes to the school library alone.
Like usual, the stacks are cozy,
stuffed to the top
with books to read.
Until I step around the corner
and two policemen
are sitting at the center circle table,
all their dark-color clothes
and shiny badge stuff
looking scary at me.
”Estele Sherman?” one asks.
I blink.
”Take a seat here, please.”
I sit down on the tippy edge
of the slippery chair.
The Interview
The policeman opens a file.
”Do you remember
what Chris Crow was wearing
the last day
he was at school, Estele,
the Wednesday
before Thanksgiving?”
”No.”
How could I
sit right behind Chris
and not see
at least what his shirt looked like?
”No, I don’t.”
”Did Chris ever reflect
on running away?” the other police officer asks.
”Reflect?”
”Talk about.”
”No. I guess Chris and I
aren’t friends.”
”You do sit directly behind him?”
”Yes.”
Finally I can say yes to something.
”Did you hear Chris mention
he was going anywhere after school
last Wednesday?”
I shake my head.
”Did he speak about Thanksgiving plans?”
”Just like everyone else.”
”How was that, Estele?”
”He was going to hang out with his family
and eat a ton of turkey.”
�
��Is that everything you remember?”
”Yes.”
”That will be all, Estele,” the first one says.
”You can go back to class.”
”Um.”
”Yes?”
”You don’t help find dads that are missing too,
do you?”
”Well if there’s been an accident or—”
”No, I mean if he just leaves.”
”No, Estele, I can’t say we do that.”
I nod and slink out.
Chris is missing—
and Dad.
Why?
So why don’t I know Chris better?
He’s really cool and nice,
and he has lots of friends.
I should have still tried
to be his friend.
At least a little bit.
Like smiling at him.
Then if he didn’t want to be friends,
at least it wouldn’t be my fault
we aren’t.
And if we were,
maybe I could have helped
the police find him.
Clothes
A plaid short-sleeved shirt
long brown pants,
a big silver belt buckle
with a gold eagle on it,
lace-up suede shoes,
aftershave,
and sticky hair gel.
I know
what Dad was wearing
when he went missing.
Did You Remember?
I scoop out
Scurvy’s dirty gravel.
”Here, Essie,” says Wally. “I’ll hold the bag.”
”Okay.” I start to shovel the dirty bits
but stop to look out the window and watch Jarin.
She misses the kickball.
”I know how that feels,” says Wally,
”but I still don’t feel sorry for her.”
I smile and go back to scooping.
”Did you think the police interview
was scary?” I ask.
Wally nods and ties the bag.
”Yeah. Mostly it made it seem so real.”
“Like Chris is really gone,” I add.
“Yeah. This isn’t a play
or a movie or something.”
I scoot Scurvy to the corner
and dump clean gravel
across the bottom of his cage.
“Did you remember
what Chris was wearing, Wally?”
“He had on jeans
and that favorite basketball T-shirt of his.”
“Oh, right.”
Wally pushes my hand out
and clips the cover on the cage.
“Come on.” He heads for the door.
“Ms. Dryden’ll be back in a minute
and recess’ll be over soon.”
He races out.
I stand there trying hard to remember
what exactly
Chris’s favorite basketball T-shirt
looks like.
Daydream During Math
“So you were there
the night your father left?” asks the policeman.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you just let him walk out?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t grab his leg?”
“No.”
“And hold him tight?”
Hold Me Tight Page 3
