“Sara, I beg you, don’t do it!” Her mother’s cry came from the kitchen.
Sara heard her mother’s terry cloth slippers shuffle on the linoleum. “What’s going on, Ma? You’re not dressed yet?” In the bleak winter light, Sara could make out her mother hovering over something on the table, her floral housedress still hanging loosely on her small figure.
“This report! I won’t let you hand it in.”
“You stole my homework assignment,” Sara shouted, watching her mother finger the precious pages. “That report isn’t meant for you. You read it without my permission.”
“The papers were falling out of your school bag,” she said. “I saw the title . . .” She nervously fussed with her hair. “You wrote it that way without my permission. Sara, you’re not handing this report in! I won’t let you.”
Sara paced from the kitchen window, where a gray rain sounded on the pane, to the table, where she gathered the stray pages of her report. Sara felt her mother’s eyes on her.
“Sweetheart,” her mother softened. “It’s a touching story. Don’t get me wrong. You’re only a high school junior and already such a good writer. I can’t believe you actually put it together from what I told you. But there’s too much personal information in it. Please tell me you won’t bring it into school the way it is.”
“I have to,” Sara pouted, fitting her arms into her pea coat and wrapping a woolen scarf around her neck. “It was due last Friday. If I don’t submit it today, I’ll...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.