I don’t say why. “Do you have a practice or a meeting or something?” Dad says. “No,” I mumble. “There’s something I need to do. Some research.” It’s not exactly a lie. Dad doesn’t ask any more questions. He seems to know I’m not in the mood to talk. When he drops me off at school, I head straight for the doors of the school, but Dad honks the car horn. I turn around, and he shouts, “You forgot to wave!” He’s right. I always wave when Mom or Dad drops me off at school. Today, I have other things on my mind. I throw my pack on the front steps, open the zipper and reach in. My lunch will be on the lower left-hand corner of my pack right next to my math textbook. Mom always packs my stuff the same way every day. I feel for the flap on my lunch bag, pull open the Velcro and slide my hand into the right-hand side of the bag. I find what I’m looking for, pull it out and slip it into my pocket. Once I’m through the doors of the school, I head right for the kid’s locker.
