The school photograph with one parent missing

Dear Delyara, I am thirteen, and tomorrow is the deadline for returning the school photograph order form. There is a box for “Mother’s name” and another for “Father’s name,” and I have filled in my mother’s name but left the other one blank. My father is in prison. Everyone at school thinks he works on a fishing boat because that is what I said after a boy asked why my dad never came to football games. Father sends me letters twice a month. He draws a small boat in the corner of every envelope, perhaps because he knows the lie I tell and wants to help me keep it. Tonight, he phoned and asked whether the photographs had been taken yet. I said yes. He asked whether I smiled with my teeth showing because I usually hide the gap. I told him I had. Then he said, “Order one for me, son. I want to put it beside the bed.” I looked at the form while he spoke. Parents who order photographs are supposed to sign at the bottom. I could write his name myself. Nobody would know. But I am afraid the teacher will recognize it from official records, and then the fishing boat will sink in front of everyone. I have placed five coins from my savings inside the envelope and written only my mother’s name. I will order a photograph for my father without admitting he exists.