The competition drawing disappeared the next morning.
Milo searched everywhere.
His backpack.
Desk.
Closet.
Nothing.
Sarah helped.
Jake leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Maybe he lost it.”
“I didn’t.”
Jake shrugged.
“You lose stuff.”
Milo turned.
“No, I don’t.”
David looked between them.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Jake said.
Milo stared at him.
Three years of being careful snapped.
“He took it.”
Sarah froze.
Jake laughed.
“What?”
“You took my drawing.”
“Why would I care about your stupid drawing?”
David’s voice changed.
“Jake.”
“I didn’t.”
Milo ran upstairs.
He returned carrying one thing.
A corner of thick paper.
It had been sticking out beneath Jake’s mattress.
Jake’s face went pale.
Sarah took it.
“That’s from Milo’s drawing.”
“No.”
Milo whispered, “He tears my things.”
Silence.
Sarah looked at him.
“How long?”
He couldn’t answer.
Jake exploded.
“He’s lying because he wants you to hate me!”
Milo flinched.
David stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Jake pointed at Milo.
“He’s not even staying!”
Nobody moved.
The words hung in the room.
