Prompt: Write about a time when you were the bearer of bad news.


The school bus pulled away from the curb with a roar as Drake ran up the driveway, bookbag bouncing against his back, a piece of red construction paper clutched tightly in one hand. "Debbie, Debbie!" he called, his voice bubbling over with excitement. "Look what I did!"

The door swung open as he approached, and Drake stopped short. Instead of the babysitter he had been expecting, his father emerged carrying a large suitcase in each hand. A duffel bag was slung over one of his shoulders. "Drake!" he said, taking a step back in his surprise. "I -- you startled me."

"What're you doing home so early?" Drake said, excitement giving way to disappointment. "Isn't Debbie here today?"

"She's here," Drake's father said curtly, regaining his composure. He pushed past Drake and moved off down the driveway, his expression tense.

"Good," Drake said, smiling, as his father dumped the suitcases on the ground behind the SUV. "I wanna show her this." He waved the paper in his hand in his father's direction, but his father was too busy opening the tailgate of the SUV to notice. "Miss Cortez said it was the best drawing in the class."

"That's good," his father said absently, still not looking at him. He swung the duffel bag over his shoulder and tossed it into the SUV.

"Ed, I can't find the -- oh, Drake!" Debbie's face flushed bright red as she caught sight of Drake, and the overstuffed brown paper bag she was balancing in her arms nearly toppled. "Oh, my God, is it after 3:00 already?"

"Debbie, lookit my picture!" Drake demanded, thrusting his paper in Debbie's face, and she balanced the bag against her hip and used her free hand to take hold of it.

"Oh, it's very nice," she said, her brown furrowing as she studied it. "Very nice, Drake." She smiled uneasily and handed it back, giving Drake's father a nervous glance.

"It's a lion!" Drake said proudly, snatching it out of her hand. "I drawed it --"

"Yes, yes, very good," Drake's father said, slamming the tailgate shut again. "Now listen, Drake, go put your stuff in the house and get started on your homework. We have a few more things to pack up here, and then I'm going to drop you at Mrs. Futch's house. You'll stay with her until your mom gets home."

"Ohhhh," Drake whined. "Why do I hafta go there? Isn't Debbie going to baby-sit today?"

"I won't be babysitting you anymore," Debbie said softly. "I'm uh... I'm moving. To... to Wisconsin."

"And I promised to drive her," Drake's father added, cutting off the protest forming in the back of Drake's throat. "So I can't stay with you, either."

"Do you hafta leave right now?" Drake said, looking from Debbie to his father and back again. Neither would meet his eye. "Can't you wait 'til Mom gets home? I don't want Mrs. Futch. I hate her!"

"Too bad," his father said firmly. "Go put your things in the house, and be quick about it."

"But Daaaaad --"

"Go!"

Drake snapped his mouth shut and stomped into the house, glaring. What a crummy afternoon this was going to be. Instead of games and snacks with Debbie, he was going to have to spend the afternoon getting yelled at to be quiet. No TV. No guitar. No milk and cookies. Just fruit and yucky books and Mrs. Futch's mean old cat hissing at him all day long. "This stinks," he muttered, plopping down on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked up surreptitiously every time his father or Debbie trooped by with another armful, hoping they'd notice he wasn't doing what he'd been told, but they both seemed way too busy to care. He'd never realized Debbie had kept so much of her stuff at their house.

Finally, Drake's father came into the living room and stood over him. "Did you do your homework?"

"No." Drake suddenly felt like crying, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

His father sighed. "Why didn't you... Oh, the hell with it. Come on, let's go."

"When are you coming home?" Drake asked, as his father locked the front door behind them. His father didn't reply, but the look on his face made Drake's stomach feel like a bunch of rocks were whamming around inside it.

Debbie was already sitting in the passenger seat when Drake clambered into the car. "Does Mom know you're not going to be my babysitter anymore?" he said, clicking his seatbelt into place. Debbie didn't answer him, either. She just shook her head and made a noise that sounded like she was crying and clearing her throat at the same time.

Drake's father climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "No," he said gruffly, yanking the seatbelt down across his shoulder. "She doesn't know." He turned halfway in his seat and looked Drake in the eye. "You tell her, okay?"

Drake held his gaze for a long moment. He didn't want to tell his mother anything. He had a horrible feeling something bad was going on, something nasty he didn't understand. He wanted to ask about a million different questions (When? Why? How?), but something in the look on his father's face told him to keep his mouth shut.

"Yeah, okay," he said finally, as the engine rumbled into life. He turned his head and looked out the window. "I'll tell her."