I'm fourteen years old now. I trembled as my teacher placed my report card on my desk. I knew
this term had been bad. I waited for Steve to get his report card too. Then we counted to three and
flipped the cards over at the same time. I stared sadly at my marks. But they weren't really as bad
as I thought they would be. My lowest mark was a 50. At least I was passing. And besides, it was
only first term. I looked over at Steve. His face had turned pale. "How did you do, Steve?" I asked
him. He passed me his card and I looked over the marks. "They're pretty much the same as mine," I
told him. "Yeah, but your parents aren't gonna freak out at you," said Steve. "Yeah..." I answered,
"Mom will just give me a disappointed look and tell me to try harder next time. Why? What will
your folks do?" I asked him. "...Same as yours, I guess..." said Steve dishonestly. Then the bell rang
and Steve hurried out before I could say another word. When I showed Mom my report card, she
did exactly what I'd predicted she'd do. The next day, when we went to gym class, Steve and I
went into the locker room to change our clothes. Steve pulled me aside when everyone had left the
room. Then he pulled his sleeves up so I could see his arms. They were red and purple, cut and
bruised all over. I gasped. "My old man wasn't too happy about my report card," said Steve quietly.
He then pulled his sleeves down again. "Are you serious?" I asked nervously. I noticed that I had
goosebumps all over me. "Yeah," Steve whispered. " You really need to talk to someone about
your life at home," I told him. I was very concerned. "I had no idea your home was like that," I said
quietly. "Don't tell anyone, okay, Soda? I don't want my dad to be taken away or anything. He's the
only parent I have left," Steve said with a trembling voice. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to
break a promise to Steve. He was my best friend. But I also wanted to help him. I didn't want to
see him get hurt anymore. "Okay, I won't tell," I promised him.
That night, I called Steve and asked him if he wanted to sleep at my house. He answered yes
without hesitation. Mom didn't mind our friends coming over as long as she knew before they came.
When Steve arrived, we set up our sleeping bags in the living room. We watched television for a
while until everyone else was asleep. "Steve?" I said to him. "Yeah?" he asked. "Uh...how are your
arms?" I asked him. "Pretty sore," he answered. "Do you want some ice or anything to put on
them?" I asked, trying to be helpful. "Nah, that's okay," he smiled. I nodded and lay down in my
sleeping bag. "So...uh...what's your home life like?" I asked him nervously. Steve's smile suddenly
faded. I was afraid that I had gone too far. But Steve answered my question. "Well, I live with my
dad. And my mom left quite a long time ago. I don't blame her. She was always the one that Dad's
anger was taken out on. But now that she's gone, it's being taken out on me," he told me. I thought
Steve was going to start crying but he didn't. He continued on. "Nobody has any idea where my
mom is now. But I just wish...that she had've taken me with her," he finished. He was crying now. I
put my arm around him. I didn't mean to make him cry. It was that night that I realized how lucky I
was. Not everyone had a family as good as mine.
Good? Bad? Well, it was sad but I hope you all liked it. And thanks again for the good reviews. Keep sending them!