He banged through the door. May Belle was standing there, her brown eyes wide.
“Did you see her?” she asked excitedly. “Did you see her laid out?”
He hit her. In the face. As hard as he had ever hit anything in his life. She stumbled backward from him with a little yelp.
He went into the bedroom and felt under the mattress until he retrieved all his paper and the paints that Leslie had given him at Christmastime.
Ellie was standing in the bedroom door fussing at him. He pushed past her.
From the couch Brenda, too, was complaining, but the only sound that really entered his head was that of May Belle whimpering.
He ran out the kitchen door and down the field all the way to the stream without looking back.
The stream was a little lower than it had been when he had seen it last.
Above from the crab apple tree the frayed end of the rope swung gently. I am now the fastest runner in the fifth grade.
He screamed something without words and flung the papers and paints into the dirty brown water.
The paints floated on top, riding the current like a boat, but the papers swirled about,
soaking in the muddy water, being sucked down, around, and down.
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