I don’t even get in trouble
for what I’ve done.
At first I think maybe
Greg didn’t see who it was,
but then today, when I pass
him in the hallway,
he looks me straight in the eyes,
and I can tell he knows.
He doesn’t look angry or scared.
Just sad.
And that gets caught in my throat.
So I stick my foot out again,
and I only hear
the slap of his hands against
the floor.
I run away as fast as I can,
ducking into a bathroom.
I hate him. I hate him so much.
And I don’t know why.