Not The Johnsons
Bennie knocked on Pattie’s door.
No answer.
“Hey, Pattie, you there?”
No answer.
“Come on, I know you’re in there. Your mom said so.”
Silence. He knocked again, louder, three bangs, a little brave and brazen, he knew, but he was a boy on a mission. The door rattled on its hinges.
“Pattie! Talk to me!”
“Yeah, what?”
“I want in. Can I come in? I’ve got the study notes,” he said, patting two folded-up pages stuck in his pocket.
No answer.
“Pattie come on. You know I’ll be nice.”
