The Weekday One Hundred

Heavy footsteps. Creaking stairs. A bitter old man.

“The mail? Where is it?” growled my father. “Just saw you get it.”

I ducked into my bedroom with a fistful of envelopes. Only one had my attention, the one with the fancy green crest in the upper left corner.

My report card. And a crummy one at that.

I crouched and slid the offensive envelope between the mattress and box spring.

My bedroom door flew open. My old man stepped forward and snatched the remaining bundle from my hand, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” I shrugged. “Can’t do my father a favor?”