Free Dog Gone by Carole Poustie

sneezed.
    â€˜What the –?’ Miss Beech’s voice exclaimed.
    I heard her shuffling backwards.
    â€˜Where did that come from?’ Ken asked.
    They went quiet.
    I don’t know what made me do it, but I suddenly stood up, just like a jack-in-the-box. Miss Beech screamed and Ken yelled out as he clamped his hands to his chest.
    â€˜Oh my God, it’s the new boy!’ squealed Miss Beech. ‘What in heaven’s name – Ken, are you okay?’
    â€˜Yes – just,’ Ken gasped. ‘The boy gave me one helluva fright.’
    I stood there with a basketball top draped over my head, still clutching the maths tests.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Miss Beech,’ I said, not knowing what else to say.
    â€˜Sorry! You’re sorry?’ yelled Miss Beech. Her eyes caught sight of the maths papers in my hand. ‘What have you got there?’
    â€˜Um –’
    â€˜Give me those! How dare you break into my office and rifle through my personal files!’
    â€˜I didn’t break in, Miss Beech. It wasn’t locked,’ I protested.
    Miss Beech’s face turned even more crimson than it already was. ‘Don’t you be smart with me, young man,’ she fired back, shuffling through the tests in her hand. ‘It’s pretty clear to me what you were doing in here.’ She pulled out my test, and after placing the others on the table beside her, ripped my page in two, adding, ‘This is what happens to cheats.’
    A little gasp escaped from my mouth.
    â€˜And to think I believed all that garbage about you wanting to do your homework at lunchtime,’ continued Miss Beech. ‘All the while you were planning to come in here and cheat on your maths test by copying someone else’s answers.’
    Ken had propped himself up on the table and was still rubbing his chest. His eyes were kind. I wished Miss Beech would go away so I could explain everything to him.
    â€˜I have a basketball match to umpire. Go and sit outside Mr Stilt’s office,’ ordered Miss Beech. ‘We’ll deal with you later.’
    I thumped down on the bench outside Mr Stilt’s office. A cheer went up from the direction of the basketball courts. I stared at his name on the office door. I hated him and everyone else.
    I’d had enough.
    I ran down the corridor, out the front entrance and down the long driveway without looking back. I didn’t care who saw me. I just wanted to get out of this prison as fast as I could.
    By the time I got to Gran’s, I was wheezing and my throat hurt every time I took a breath. I turned the handle on Gran’s front door, but it didn’t move.
    Gran never locked her front door. I knocked and waited, puffing and panting, wishing she’d hurry up. I peered in through the stained-glass window at the side of the door, looking for movement down the hallway, expecting the sound of Gran’s footsteps any second. My heart sank. The only thing I heard was a magpie singing out on the front lawn.
    I went round the side of the house. Gran’s old Hillman wasn’t parked in its usual spot. This was really odd. She hardly ever drove anywhere during the week.
    I’d stopped puffing, but my throat hurt from breathing in the cold air. Where was Gran? The back door wasn’t locked. Good! I went in and yelled out, then checked in all the rooms. There was no sign of her. I went into my room and flopped onto my bed, then stuffed my face into my pillow. It was better than looking at Lucky’s empty bed. Then I must have fallen asleep.
    I woke with a start. For a moment I thought I was in my bedroom back at home. Through the window one of the boughs of the peppercorn tree nodded up and down in the breeze, and I remembered where I was.
    I thought about Lucky and wondered where he was and if he was still alive. He’d had so many close calls in his life. My journal was sitting on the end of the bed, so I finished off a poem