Social Issues
One by one, we raised our flashlight beams to the underside of the roof. It was dark. But even in the dim light, we could see that the darkness was moving. It undulated like "the wave" at a hockey game. The cockroaches protested our entry by releasing their hold on the ceiling and flying down at us.
"I'm outta here," Caleb said, heading for the doorway.
"Not so fast," I said, my fingers closing tightly on his collar. "Pull your hood up, Caleb, and get on that ladder. I'll go last."
I hoped that last sentence didn't sound too bitter. I also hoped that all the weights I'd been pumping would help me haul my nonworking leg up. I gripped the ladder beneath my three buddies and hung my cane on one of the lower rungs.
My breathing was heavy, my hands were sweaty. But with one pull after another, I kept climbing.
The water was choppy. I struggled to hold on. If I bailed, I was done for. The coming wave would suck me in and spit me out the back after it had raked me across the reef. No one would be pulling me out of the waves here. There might not be a lot of me left to even pull out.
At recess, Stewart and I played catch. I forgot about Joe for a few minutes.
Then someone tapped me hard on my shoulder.
I spun around.
It was Joe.
"How's Dimples' little boo-boo?" he asked.
"Stop calling me that," I said.
"Now don't get so excited," he sneered. "It makes your face look like a tomato—a tomato with worm holes."
