boomerang

"Why did you think I was lying to you?"

I look him in the eye: "Because you lied to me before." And his expression is either, "You have a point," or, "I shoulda thought of that." He doesn't argue or deny, just slips in, again a fugitive. My classroom a momentary hideout for a bad decision on the lam. Or so he thinks or so hopes as he does his delinquent homework and I check out his story, bust him once again.

I lay out the facts as I know them, again. He mounts a ritual defense. Neither one of us is angry. I'm either past it or gearing up.

"You realize," I pause, "that I am not your accomplice." There's a question in my voice.

His laugh says, "I was hoping," even as he denies the notion.

Soon enough he agrees that of the options presented going back where he belongs is the best. The taps on my keyboard to alert the authorities and clear my name accompany his exit.

Minutes pass. The door opens. The not-even-prodigal returns.

"It's lunch," he says, pre-emptively.

I look around for the magnet.