BITTERSWEET DOUGHNUT

IN CASSIDY’S CLASS I TURN IN A ROUGH DRAFT OF A PERSUASIVE essay on voting. I worked on it over the weekend. She says she’s looking forward to reading it.

I know it’s not as good as it could be. And I want to make it better. So, for the first time ever, I ask for help.

“You got plans after school?” Cassidy asks.

“I do now,” I say.

“Three o’clock. Do not stand me up.”

I don’t.

Cassidy is all business. Right off the bat, she reads a section and asks, “What are you thinking here?” I tell her what I’m thinking and she says, “That’s good. Cross out the mumbo-jumbo and write that. Exactly like you said it.”

I try it. She’s right. It’s better.

We go on like that for a while and about the time I think my hand is going to fall off my arm, she says, “It’s getting much clearer. You have some solid ideas, Sam I Am. Now go ahead and recopy your fixes onto a clean paper so you can actually see what you’ve got.”

Recopying is the last thing I wanna do, but I don’t fight her on it. I shake my hand in the air like helicopter blades to get the blood rushing again.

I’m barely getting started when Cassidy digs into her bag. “Doughnut? It’s part of my see-food diet.” She pulls out a Krispy Kreme sack. She hands me a big old O. I chomp it down. My hand feels much better.

“Sam, have you heard anything from Luis?”

“No.”

“I called after the slam. I called Saturday, Sunday,” she says. “I told Carter. I told the counselors…”

“I’ve called every day, too. Ms. Cassidy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m freaking out about it.”

“Me too,” she says.

That’s about all we can say. She gets to work on her teacher stuff. I work on my essay. We both eat.

And we worry.