Here It Ends

©2023 by Dan LawtonAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.The author grants the final approval for this literary material.First Digital VersionThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. CHECK OUT WHERE THE STORY BEGAN! For Dad CHAPTER ONEFifteen years ago. An eleven-year-old girl stood in her mother’s kitchen while her father packed her backpack. She felt the tug against her shoulders as he filled the secret compartment at the bottom. Inside the secret compartment was a smaller compartment accessible with a unique three-digit code. The code was unique each time. She knew her father had the master code that would open the compartment every time, overriding the temporary one. He changed the temporary code every time he filled up her backpack. It was for her safety, he said once.A teapot whistled on the stovetop. Her mother finished what she was doing and scampered toward it with a teacup in hand. The steam billowed against the ceiling when boiling water cascaded over the bag in her mother’s cup. It smelled like the garden. Her father spoke something in Finnish to her mother, but the girl did not understand what it meant. Her parents spoke Finnish only when there was a conversation they did not want their only child to be a part of. Otherwise, they spoke English. Everyone the girl knew spoke English, including everyone at her school.Being an only child, the girl often felt lonely at home. Her father was frequently on the phone in his office on the other side of the house, and her mother kept busy being a homemaker. After school, the girl would sit at the dinner table in the kitchen and work on her studies while her mother prepared dinner—or as her mother called it, middag. On days her father packed her backpack, he would be waiting for her on the front stoop when she arrived home. She would walk to and from most days, except for the ones her mother deemed too cold. Or the rainy ones. On those days, her mother would drive her. Those days were the girl’s favorites. She enjoyed the extra time with her mother, even if it was often without conversation.On this day, the girl felt a twinge of excitement as she stood in the kitchen. The smaller secret compartment clicked at her back. The buttons popped on the larger one. Her father kissed her on the head and left the kitchen without saying anything to her. Now that she had a year under her belt at the comprehensive school and knew what to expect, the nerves she felt on this day the year before were gone. She had heard nothing but good things about the teacher she would be having this year. Plus, her best friend was going to be in class with her, so that made her happy. She had not seen her, or any of her friends, all summer long.Her mother put her teacup down and made a twirling motion with her finger. The girl spun around and faced the hallway. She sensed her mother approach from the back. The tug on her shoulders was stronger, the backpack heavier, as her mother loaded the pack with the school supplies she needed for the year. After she was zipped, the girl spun and faced her mother, who smiled at her.“Have a wonderful first day, sweetheart,” her mother said.The girl smiled at her.“I’ll make ostkaka for dessert to celebrate.”“With blueberries?”Her mother smiled again. She knew it was the girl’s favorite. “Of course. Now go on. You don’t want to be late.”“Yes, Mother.” The girl turned back toward the hallway and began to walk. As she approached the front door, her father popped his head out from his office.“Sheila?” he said.She stopped.He handed her a slip of scrap paper with three digits on it—the temporary code for the secret compartment in her backpack. She took it and slid it into her sock. Even if her skirt had pockets, the sock was safer; no one would look there.“There will be someone to meet you at the barber shop after school. You know it?”“Yes, Daddy.”Her father smiled. “That’s my good girl.”The girl waited for her father to retreat to his office. Once he did, she reached for the door handle, twisted it, and stepped outside.She was ready for her first day of fifth grade.. . . . .School came and went. Sheila was pleased to see her best friend and was impressed how much she had grown up—and it seemed the boys were too. At lunch, she heard a group of them whispering about the small bumps on her chest that protruded through her shirt. Sheila did not know what it meant but noticed her friend seemed embarrassed all day; she did not unzip her coat once. Sheila’s chest still looked like the boys’.The teacher was nice, but they all were on the first day. One of the boys farted in class and made the other boys laugh. None of the girls thought it was as funny as the boys, including the teacher. The boy was scolded in front of everyone and forced to excuse himself in front of the entire class. For the rest of the day, he slouched at his desk and kept his head down. Sheila did not know the boy, but she felt bad for him. If it were her in that situation, she would have felt terribly embarrassed.After the dismissal bell rang, Sheila left school and walked to the barber shop. Most kids would have been