as i sat perched in the second-floor window of our brick schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. this was a day i`d looked forward to for weeks: miss pace`s fourth-grade, end-of-the-year party. miss pace had kept a running countdown on the blackboard all that week, and our class of nine-year-olds had bordered on insurrection by the time the much-anticipated "party friday" had arrived.

　　i had happily volunteered my mother when miss pace requested cookie volunteers. mom`s chocolate chips reigned supreme on our block, and i knew they`d be a hit with my classmates. but two o`clock passed, and there was no sign of her. most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch and crackers, chips, cupcakes and brownies. my mother was missing in action.

　　"don`t worry, robbie, she`ll be along soon," miss pace said as i gazed forlornly down at the street. i looked at the wall clock just in time to see its black minute hand shift to half-past.

　　around me, the noisy party raged on, but i wouldn`t budge from my window watch post. miss pace did her best to coax me away, but i stayed out, holding out hope that the familiar family car would round the corner, carrying my rightfully embarrassed mother with a tin of her famous cookies tucked under her arm.

　　the three o`clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and i dejectedly grabbed my book bag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.

　　on the four-block walk to our house, i plotted my revenge. i would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speak to her again.