By Sabina B. Schilling

Walter walked across his middle school’s soccer field, thinking about how his dad never came back. All the police found was a strip of his coat and some hay. Walter jumped the fence. The recess bell rang, “good,” he thought, “no more kids around to tell on me.” He hid in the bushes on the side of the road hoping no one had seen him. He heard a twig snap behind him and whipped around and saw a girl about his age standing behind him.

“Why aren’t you in school?” She demanded.

“Uh… I… um… well why aren’t you?”

“I was following you!”

“Oh man” he thought, “this is bad!”

“What is your name?” She asked in a mock authoritative tone.

“Walter Pendansakee.”

He felt the disease on his arms prickle.

The disease was from when his dad left. His mom said that it was because he never cried.

“Well I guess I could tell you,” he said

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning” she retorted. “ I already called our principal and told him that my mom was taking us home.”

He took a deep breath and told his story.

“When my dad left, I didn’t cry but I’ve always been sad and my arms got this weird decease, because I’ve kept my decease bottled inside me. My dad said it wasn’t manly to cry.” A silent tear fell… then a waterfall, his, horrible incurable disease slid off, washed away with the medicine of his tears.