The Struggles of Johnny Cannon by Isaiah Campbell

good and took to telling her that there wasn’t nothing to worry about.
    â€œWe’ve got to move,” she kept saying.
    â€œNow, now,” he kept saying. “We don’t have anything to worry about.”
    â€œDo you reckon he’s going to run for sheriff?” I asked.
    â€œHe didn’t say he was,” Willie said.
    â€œYeah, but the things he didn’t say meant a whole heck of a lot more than what he did,” I said. Reverend Parkins nodded in agreement, but he didn’t say nothing ’cause I think he was trying to keep Mrs. Parkins from freaking out.
    â€œWe should all pray,” he said. “And take Mr. Gorman’s advice, as ill-intended as it was, to heart. We should vote for the right person and pray that the right person, whoever he is, will defeat Bob Gorman in the election.”
    All of a sudden, I didn’t feel too safe having that letter so far away from me, even if it was safely in Willie’s room. Especially if the wrong fella was about to be the sheriff, I needed to protect myself as much as possible.
    â€œHey, I reckon I’m going to take the letter with me,” I said.
    Willie looked confused at first, but then he understood, ’cause he could read my mind I reckon, and he got the letter for me. I folded it up and put it in my pocket.
    I stayed up there for another couple of hours, shooting the breeze and being funny to try to cheer Mrs. Parkins up. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be at school. I hurried and headed back into town just in time for Mr. Braswell to inform me that I was going to get detention ’cause I’d skipped out of school. Which was fine by me for two reasons. One, staying in detention meant I didn’t have to worry about spilling my blood or the beans about Captain Morris. And two, detention was run by the best teacher we’d ever had, Mrs. Buttke.
    Detention was held in the lunchroom, but they didn’t serve no food, so if you was hungry it was pretty bad. That day, when I walked in, I realized that it was going to be even worse for me. ’Cause, sitting in the back corner, right behind the kid from sixth grade that liked to put his boogers on the girl that sat in front of him, was Eddie. And he was sporting a black eye. It didn’t take me but five seconds to guess who’d given it to him.
    There’s only been a handful of things in my life I’ve ever really regretted doing, like spitting on a roller coaster when Martha was riding behind me when I was ten or trying to siphon gas and drinking a quarter of a tank when I was eight. And I had a feeling that going over and sitting next to Eddie in detention that day was going to be added to that list. I should have stayed away, but for whatever reason, I felt like it was what I was supposed to do. I don’t rightly know why.
    I plopped down next to him and he slid away from me on the bench.
    â€œWhere’d you get the black eye?” I asked.
    â€œRan into a door,” he said.
    â€œA door with knuckles?”
    He glared at me.
    â€œYup,” he said.
    â€œAhem,” Mrs. Buttke said. “Mr. Cannon and Mr. Gorman, if you two are trying to make me feel nostalgic about last year, I assure you my memories aren’t nearly fond enough. Now stay quiet and work on your homework.”
    Eddie seemed real relieved at that and he buried himself into his math. I probably should have done the same, but me and math never did have a real keen relationship, so I took to drawing stick men fighting with swords instead.
    After a bit, Mrs. Buttke finished off a big mug of coffee and excused herself to go to the restroom. Which is always the cue in detention for everyone to take a break and raise Cain. The Miller twins went right back into the same fight that had got them into detention in the first place, something about ducks and geese and which one was faster. At least I think that’s what they was debating. It was hard to