Free Camille McPhee Fell Under the Bus by Kristen Tracy Page B

TV and blamed it for everything bad in the world. Clearly, these people weren’t aware of the good stations, like CNN, or PBS, or the Game Show Network.
    “I bet you got the idea to fix your brother like this from some cop show on TV,” he said, wagging his finger at Samantha.
    “It was a movie,” she whimpered.
    “I actually was watching an educational program on the Science Channel,” I said.
    Officer Peacock stopped in his tracks. He spun around to face me. The sun reflected off his badge and into my eyes, blinding me. When I shaded my eyes with my hand I saw that he had his bolt cutters aimed right at me.
    “No excuses!” he huffed. “We got a child chained to a fuel tank and you’re the babysitter. No excuses!” He turned back around and stomped through the ankle-high snow into the Bratbergs’ backyard toward Dustin and the propane tank.
    Dustin was shivering and crying. As Officer Peacock inspected the handcuffs, Dustin pleaded with him to hurry.
    “We’ve got two choices,” Officer Peacock said. “First, how important is that hand to you?”
    “It’s very important to me,” he whined. “I write with it.”
    “I hope I don’t have to cut it off.”
    Dustin fell to his knees, but his arm stayed where it was. The way his arm stretched above him made it look as if he were raising his hand to ask a really important question. I was not happy about this officer’s attitude. He was acting like a jerk. I wanted to kick him in the shins and demand that he be nicer to us or I’d kick him again.
    But Officer Peacock wasn’t the kind of guy you kicked in the shins, even if you had a good reason. He was armed with a gun and a billy club and a terrible personality. He towered over me and Samantha and Dustin in his all-tan uniform. I decided it was best to apologize.
    “Normally, I’m the mother’s helper,” I said. “Being the babysitter is new to me. I’m really sorry about this.” I walked over to Dustin and patted him on the back.
    “I’m sorry too,” Samantha cried, running and throwing her arms around Dustin. “I was a bad sister.”
    “Back away. Let me use Jaws.” Officer Peacocksqueezed the bolt cutters around the cuffs and snapped them off.
    Dustin hugged his leg.
    “I’ll never do this again,” he said. “And I’ll always look both ways before I cross the street. And I’ll never throw candy bar wrappers out the window again. And I won’t glue quarters to sidewalks. And I won’t toilet-paper supertall trees or stick plastic forks in old people’s yards. And when a light turns yellow and my dad asks if he should punch it, I’ll tell him no. And—”
    “You’re welcome,” Officer Peacock said, patting Dustin firmly on the back. “You need to stay out of trouble, or those handcuffs will have just been a practice session.”
    I thought that was an awful thing for Officer Peacock to say. As he drove out of sight, I hooked one arm around Samantha and the other around Dustin and led them back inside. On the Science Channel, two paleontologists were digging up dinosaur bones. I’ve always felt sorry for dinosaurs. It’s never seemed fair to me that such neat-looking animals went extinct.
    “This is gross,” Dustin said.
    Both he and his sister collapsed onto the giant beanbag and continued to watch the TV like zombies. The blue light bounced off their faces, making them look half dead. (Nobody looks attractive when they’re watching TV.)
    When Mrs. Bratberg came home, I told her what had happened. She apologized several times. Then she took a plastic spatula out of a kitchen drawer and started whipping up a batch of brownies. She told Samantha and Dustin they didn’t deserve any. But she said she’d call me when they were done and I could have one. Then I presented her with my sock filled with quarters.
    “I don’t have time for a math lesson right now,” she said.
    “Oh,” I said.
    “How much is in there?” she asked.
    “Forty-nine dollars and fifty cents,” I