'Late Home' by Linda Irish

We were late home from school. We let ourselves in through the back as usual.
Carli toe-taps me: no, that’s not true.
Try again.
We were late home. We let ourselves in through the back.
I expect Carli to tap me again, but she’s not there.
The woman’s face is kind.
I was late home.
I let myself in.
“Take your time,” she says.
Is this ‘cause I stole Kerry Day’s Pandora?
She left it in the girls’ changing room.
Like she didn’t care.
I was late home.
Mrs Blunt tried to pull me away with her bare, baggy arms.
There was no back door.
I wanted Mum’s jangly, singing arms.
The warm bones of her.
I was late home.
Detention.
Because of stealing a useless charm bracelet.
I’d been saving up for her birthday.
But we were on an economy campaign. Dad was even going to give up smoking.
I’d have replaced it. When I could.
I was late home.
Mrs Blunt hugged me with her soft, vanilla arms.
I heard the sirens. I thought they were coming for me.
Because of stealing the bracelet.
I was late home.