It was a brisk January morning when I woke up around 6:30 for another day of fifth grade. My orange and white cat, named Cutie Heart, was sitting on the cluttered kitchen table when I walked towards the door to leave. I gave my soft, calm cat a kiss on his pink nose and went on my way. I hopped in the back seat of the car, feeling a pit in my stomach the further my mom drove us away from home.
Once I arrived at school, I sat anxiously through each lesson until the first recess bell. As I walked around the blacktop watching classmates play rounds of handball and hopscotch, I wondered what Cutie Heart was doing at home. I found a blue-colored bench, empty, and sat down on the cold wood to eat my bag of grapes and breakfast bar. Eventually, the bell rang, and I walked back to class. More lessons on cursive writing, American history, and multiplication tables filled the day. During the forty-five-minute lunch break, I searched for a vacant spot in the crowded cafeteria to eat my Lunchables and read my Judy-Bloom book in solitude.
Finally, after watching the clock leisurely tick for the last two hours of school, the final bell rang and I rushed to where my mom’s car was parked. Anticipation filled my heart on the drive home. I jumped quickly out of the barely parked car, ran through the front door and looked directly at the, still-messy, kitchen table. Wondering where my best friend was, I continued through the house to my bedroom, and sitting on my bed was Cutie Heart. I smiled and laid down next to him, no longer alone.
The Bolt Magazine 