Eaten.

A centina about unofficially missing homework.

“Dude, no way Mrs Mitchel buys that.” “I know.” “She’s a monster.” I know real monsters, “She’s worse.”

Everyone turned in their work like falling dominoes. I broke the chain. “James, where’s yours?” I shrugged.

Dad said I couldn’t say. “What happened?”

I promised.

Kids bunched up behind me. “Can’t say.” “James,” said Mrs Mitchell, her eye twitching. “Eaten,” I blurted. “By your dog?” she laughed, the class joined in while I squirmed.

No! An enraged ‘officially classified’ Mudlurker ate it!

She straightened the pile. “I’m waiting.”

“Can’t say — I promised.” “The truth, James. Now!” “You can’t handle the truth!”