“No, it was my fault. I’m the one who jumped in.” I said as tears began to well up in my eyes. To my surprise, Ms. Dozier said no more and stormed off inside. I asked to borrow Chele’s phone as I stood in the grass missing one shoe and covered in mud. I needed to call my mom. I needed to go home and never see Ms. Dozier again. Chele went to dig my shoe out of the mud as I tried to talk to my mom without choking on my own tears. “I got it!” Chele exclaimed. She pulled out my shoe covered in mud and strings of grass and roots. Relieved, I went to the bathroom to clean up and waited for my mom to pick me up. When my mom arrived, she did not seem angry or upset, as I had expected. Rather, she was just thankful it was not anything too serious, as my crying over the phone would have suggested. Mom remembered that I still had my pasta salad dish sitting on the table at the party. I refused to get it, disgusted even thinking about seeing Ms. Dozier again. Thankfully, my mom agreed to get the dish and make a plate of food for me to take