Do Not Resuscitate. Charley Brindley

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      We laughed, then hurried for the doors as the bell rang.

      The next day at lunch, I sat with Patsy and Melody in the bleachers.

      “Mom said we can study at my house,” Patsy said. “She wants you and Melody to come to supper tomorrow night, then we can use the dining room to study.”

      “Awesome,” I said. “How about you, Melody?”

      “Yeah, I’ll be there. Can we work on Spanish, too?”

      “Sure. What’s your address, Patsy?’ I asked. “I’ll tell my dad to come pick me up around nine tomorrow night. How’s that?”

      She gave me her address, and I wrote it on my lunch bag.

      “You want to walk home with us tomorrow?” Patsy asked.

      I thought about that for a moment as I studied her address. I didn’t mind walking, but it seemed a shame since the school bus went right by her house.

      “Okay.”

      The next day after school, the three of us started down the street, walking toward Patsy’s house.

      “Wait a minute,” I said.

      Patsy and Melody stopped, turning toward me.

      “We’re taking bus number three.”

      “No,” Patsy said. “I’d rather walk.”

      “If you walk home every day, Ember wins. You know that.”

      “I don’t care if she wins. I hate that song.”

      “We can sing, too,” I said.

      Melody smiled and nodded.

      “I don’t—” Patsy began.

      “How about if we sing a different song?”

      “What song?”

      I told them what I was thinking of. We then joined the line waiting for bus number three. Ember was ahead of us, talking and laughing with her friends. She didn’t notice us.

      The bus pulled up, and the kids filed on. We were the last ones.