Free This Journal Belongs to Ratchet by Nancy J. Cavanaugh Page B

Pump It Up at the other end of town. Pump It Up was the station Pretty Boy Eddie owned, so Dad never went there.
    Seeing Hunter would’ve been fine. Nice even. But he was with Evan, so I wasn’t sure what would happen. I hadn’t seen Evan since I’d started helping the boys with their go-carts.
    I knew there was no chance that Hunter and Evan wouldn’t see me, so I braced myself for Evan’s insults. At the same time, I tried not to think about how it would hurt even more now if Hunter went right along with Evan and his mean jokes.
    â€œLook, Hunter,” Evan said. “Now Ratchet’s a gas girl.”
    Hunter got off his bike but didn’t look at me.
    I concentrated on the numbers as they flipped on the gas pump.
    Evan made some crack about me cleaning the gas station bathrooms as he kicked down his kickstand.
    Then I heard, “Shut up.”
    I whipped my head around to look at Hunter. He was staring right at Evan, and he had just told him to shut up.
    â€œWhat?” asked Evan.
    â€œI said, shut up,” Hunter said louder.
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” Evan said.
    â€œNo,” Hunter said, throwing his leg back over his bike. “I’m not kidding, and I gotta go.”
    And Hunter was gone before Evan could say anything else.
    I turned back to the gas pump and finished filling my container, then put it in the milk crate on the back of my bike and took off. I never even looked back to see what Evan did.
    It didn’t matter.
    The only thing that mattered was what Hunter had just done.
    It mattered a lot.

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a list poem about a task you must do.
    Helping Hunter Get Ready for the Big Test
    Make flash cards.
    Put labels on tools.
    Put labels on engine parts.
    Make a diagram of an engine.
    Make a four-stroke cycle poster.
    Review everything with Hunter.
    Make up a quiz.
    Give Hunter the quiz.
    Cross my fingers...

WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
    Dad’s working like crazy trying to catch up on all the repairs that got backed up because of the accident. I hate to see him have to work with his hand all bandaged up — it makes everything harder, so I’m helping him even more than usual.
    I feel so guilty when I see that big white bandage, but as the guilt turns over and over in my mind like a combination wrench, I find my anger on the other end of it — my anger at Dad about the mystery box — the anger that caused this whole thing to happen.
    I still don’t know what’s in the box, and Dad won’t tell me.
    I don’t know where the key is to the box, so I still haven’t opened it.
    It feels like my guilt and anger make the big empty space inside me get bigger and emptier every day.

WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting

    Yesterday we changed a fan belt and a water pump and did a brake job. All in one day. And to use a corny pun — I’m running out of gas. As Dad’s hand gets better, my guilt does too, but my anger gets worse. Does Dad really think he can tell me to leave well enough alone and believe for a minute that I’ll forget all about the box that obviously has Mom’s stuff in it?
    So I’ve decided not to do any of my homeschool assignments. I’m supposed to be a full-time student. Not a full-time mechanic. If Dad’s going to overwork me in the garage and not answer a really important question, then I’m going to do whatever I want when he finally lets me take a “break” (as he calls it) to study. I’m doing my journal writing and some language arts assignments (only the ones that look like fun) because that IS a break. Making a time line of important world events for social studies or doing long division with remainders for math ISN’T.
    Besides, with all the extra time I’m spending helping Hunter study for the go-cart test, I don’t even have time for my assignments. The worst part is I feel like Hunter hasn’t learned a thing. Today better