Punch Like a Girl by Karen Krossing

some of my bread?”
    â€œYou shouldn’t feed the geese,” I say, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t talk to him. “It’s bad for—”
    I stop abruptly when I notice that Casey has dropped the grass at her feet and gone rigid. Her chin has retreated into her neck, and the whites of her eyes show as she gapes at Mr. Manicure.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Casey?” I kneel down.
    She’s speechless. My creep-o-meter goes off the scale. I glance toward the playground—I can’t see Jia anymore—and then up at Mr. Manicure.
    His forehead has knotted, and his eyes are filled with malice. “Tell Carita she can go to hell,” he practically growls at me before he grabs Casey around her middle and takes off at a run toward the forest.
    Casey screams—a piercing wail that jumpstarts me.
    â€œWhat are you doing? Let her go!” I shriek, sprinting after them.
    Casey’s sunhat falls off her head. The geese honk. I latch onto the back of Mr. Manicure’s shirt with my cast hand, even though it hurts like hell, and land a few punches to his kidneys.
    â€œJia! Help!” I yell, even though she’s probably too far away to hear.
    I get in a few more hits. He staggers sideways. I grab Casey’s ankle, holding fast. He regains his footing and rips her from me. Then he shakes me off, knocking me backward into the pond.
    Casey! I swallow water. Gag. It’s freezing. The bottom oozes muck. I thrash around to get my footing, desperate to help her.
    My hand gropes the shore. I pull on some weeds to get myself upright.
    I gasp for air, coughing and sputtering, wiping my eyes like mad. I kneel. Water streams off me.
    â€œCasey!” I shout, glancing up and down the path. My teeth chatter. My chest thuds.
    Casey is nowhere in sight.

FREAK
to explode with panic
    Seconds pass like hours. I stand at the edge of the pond, rigid.
    Call 9 - 1 - 1 . Tell Jia. Find Casey. My brain fires off thoughts, but my body refuses to react. Inside, I’m screaming, thrashing, punching holes in the sky.
    How could this happen?
    The sky is a cheerful blue. My clothes are covered in muck and feathers. My shorts drip water down my legs. The Velcro straps on my cast have come loose.
    I pick up Casey’s sunhat and hold it to my chest.
    Jia. Go to her.
    I force my feet to move.
    My shoes squelch with every step.
    Jia. I need her.
    I break into a run, desperate to tell her the horrible thing I let happen, desperate for her to fix it.
    I slip on wet goose poop and slam backward onto the brick path.
    I arrive at the playground smelling like goose crap and pond scum.
    My mascara must be smeared down my cheeks.
    More than one mother gives me a fearful look, as if I’m the monster, but there are bigger monsters than they can imagine.
    My skin feels raw. I stumble toward Jia.
    She’s watching Jonah swing across the overhead bars. When she sees me, her smile wilts.
    â€œTori, what happened? Where’s Casey?” Her eyes dart to the pond and back to me.
    I open my mouth.
    Gone , I want to say. Let me tell you what happened. We need to find her.
    Instead, a wail comes out. I dive at Jia and bury my face in her shoulder.
    â€œTori, talk to me,” she begs.
    I can’t breathe.

    Minutes later, I’m sitting at a picnic table, Casey’s sunhat in my lap. The hydro truck is back, parked outside the playground fence. It’s lifting a worker in an orange hard hat with the hydraulic arm. How can hydro wires matter right now?
    Francine has run down the path to the forest, looking for Casey. Sal has gathered the rest of the kids in a tight knot near the slide. Fatima propels a yellow tractor over a sand mound that the bigger kids are building. Sal watches us anxiously. When he finds out how I let Casey get taken, he won’t want to go bowling with me anytime soon.
    â€œThe police will be here soon.” Jia’s face is in mine; straight black hair, freckles