Catch me if you can, the boy said, and ran away behind the swing set. I stepped tender-footed so as not to make a sound. A giggle gave me away.

Open up, he shouted, pointing a gun at me. Against the wall and spread 'em. I leaned against the cool brick of the schoolyard and felt his plastic bazooka poke me in the ribs.

Ow, I complained. I've never talked to this kid before, in all my days as a sub at George E. Lewis, the school for the wayward and dumb and ADD kids and those who were merely poor. I liked this kid, Joey. He had energy, like a breeze whirling around in a can.

Hey Joey, I said. I hate to shatter your ego or anything, but if Principle Jump sees that gun, even a toy one, you're outta here. He'll call your mom.

Joey didn't answer. He was pretending to reload and made rumbling noises, clipping another round of ammo to his belt.

Joseph! I said. Yes, ma'am. He looked up like a choir boy, all innocence and obedience.You really should go back inside, I said. The bell rang five minutes ago.

He stared back at me. Five minutes could be an eternity if you were 8. See here, I tried, knowing I could never fill the place of his sister, who's been moved down last month, just minding her business, playing hopscotch or double-dutch or whatever kids did on street corners these days. I knew whatever I said, I couldn't make it better.

Joey still didn't say a word. I tried a gentler tone. You miss her?

He nodded.

Miss Speaker, he said, finally finding the words. Can I go call my ma? from the office. I got something to tell her.

___________

Diana J. Wynne loves contests and verbs. She lives in San Francisco where she produces interactive content and eats tacos. She recently wrote and produced "Joyce to the World," a documentary about Ulysses and Bloomsday. You'll find her stories in the NY Times, Exquisite Corpse, Ms. Magazine, RawStory.com. Tall, strict Miss Speaker was a first-grade substitute teacher.