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School just got out. It is summer, and we are free to do whatever we please. Well, I would be able to if only my mom would come pick me up. I’m sitting against the school. I’m wearing jean shorts and a green tank top that complements my eyes.

While I’m sitting here against this school, I see that there is a boy across the lawn. He occasionally looks my way. I just stare at him. I think I might know this boy. He looks very familiar. He has ash brown hair that is shaved off, which makes it look like he has peach fuzz on the top of his head. He is wearing a red t-shirt with a weird symbol on it and khaki shorts. He gets up and comes over to me.

“Hi!” he says, his light blue eyes beaming.

“Hi,” I say back.

“My name’s Ian.  What’s yours?” he asks curiously. Now that he is closer to me I can see little bruises and cuts along his arms.

“Joanne,” I say. I start fiddling with my long, light brown hair. I do this when I’m nervous. I don’t really like meeting new people.

“So what are you still doing here?” Ian asks.

“Waiting for my mom to pick me up.  I wish she would hurry up.  How about you?”

“Well, normally I just walk home, but I don’t really feel like it right now,” he says sitting down next to me.

“Won’t anyone worry?”

“Nope, Mom doesn’t come home till late.”

“Oh, I see,” I say trying to hide the shock in my voice. He is only a sixth grader, and his mom expects him to walk home to an empty house?

“You wanna play something?” Ian asks.

“What?”

“Um, I don’t know.” He gets up. “What about tag?”

“Okay, sounds fun!” I start to get up, and Ian holds out his hand to help me up. I take it; his hand is soft even though there are many scratches on them. I try and not to put pressure on his hand because I notice bruises, too.

“I’ll be ‘it’ first,” Ian recommends. “I’ll also give you a few seconds to run away.”

I start to run. Once he starts chasing after me, I start to weave in and out of the trees in the area. Ian almost has his hand on my shoulder when I bolt in the other direction before he catches me. I leave Ian in the dust. That’s when I hear it - the screech of car brakes.

“Ian!” says a distressed voice.  Walking over towards Ian is an older woman wearing jeans that are too tight for her and a shirt with a low neckline. “Where have you been?” she screeches.

“Mom, I can explain.”

“Shut up Ian,” she says roughly and grasps his arm and yanks him to the car.

I stand there motionless. I see Ian shoved roughly into the car. I feel that my mouth is hanging open to I shut it. I try and say something to reassure him, that I’ll see him tomorrow, but only a gust of air comes out.

“Ian I’ll-” I finally say. But now it is too late. The door is shut and he can’t hear my words. His face is pressed against the glass. I’m not sure, but I think I see a single tear run down his face. I take one last glimpse of Ian’s face, and regret turning my back, and walking away.

by Emma Thury