When a strict teacher confronts Ryan, a special day takes a turn for the worse I walked into the gymnasium and saw the face of Ms. Himmel, the one teacher I never wanted to see there on that special day. She was one of two teachers always patrolling our classroom. She was strict toward everyone except my friend Jim. She was always kind to him. The only times she ever showed anyone else a hint of kindness was in the parent-teacher conferences. I thought that she was possibly trying to make the parents feel like she was a kind teacher when in truth she was not. Ms. Himmel had sent me to the principal’s office twice before the special day. I had always been scared of going to the office, and I never wanted it to happen to me again. The first time, it was because I had accidentally broken the tip of a pencil. Ms. Himmel had taken me to the principal and said, “And here is the tip of the pencil, violently broken,” showing the principal a pencil tip smaller than a pin. I had felt very frightened, and I had been crying. Ms. Himmel’s face had twitched, and that was something you never wanted to see. It meant she was really angry. On the special day, my friends and I walked to school with big smiles on our faces, singing, laughing, and bumping each other’s arms. “I can’t wait to see the aquarium!” I said. “When we walk into the gym, open your eyes to the sea of greatness.” Indeed, the whole class was excited. This was not a normal day. We were going to have a fun event that the second-graders have every year: we were going to present a panorama of New York City. We had worked for two months on this project, and it was finally here. Taming the Sun We all went to the gym, where it all took place. It was a spacious room, with beige walls and a light wood floor with the school’s logo in the middle. There were also sports jerseys of famous people framed on the wall. It was foggy with the breath of over a hundred second-graders, and it was hard to see. For the first time, there was not a single bouncing ball in sight. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart thumping. The whole class gathered inside the gym to look at the finished product. There were aquariums, parks, basketball courts, four bridges, and so much more. My friends and I were walking around the gym, admiring our work and looking at other people’s work. I remember the feeling of pride as I gazed at the sea of buildings in the gym. I was proud of what I had built. I had made a hotel that I named the Sunshine Hotel, which I was hoping to find in real life one day. I made a backyard court with a basketball hoop. I had also put solar panels on the buildings because I love the environment. I vaguely remember recreating the Empire State Building as well. I worked alone, but it was fun work. I remember my friend saying, “Wow, we put so much hard work into this, and now it’s a reality.” There were boats in this project, and these boats were each a single Lego piece. I thought these looked really cool under the bridge. I picked one up and examined it closely. I thought it looked nice in my hands. I moved it to a different part of the panorama. Ms. Himmel saw this. She called me over. Beads of sweat were dripping from my face as Ms. Himmel said, “Go sit on that bench, facing the wall.” My hands were somewhat trembling because she had a history of punishing me even if I had done nothing. She told me that what I’d done was wrong and that I would again be sent to the principal’s office. I stood there in complete disbelief, but I should not have been surprised in the slightest. Beads of sweat were dripping from my face as Ms. Himmel said, “Go sit on that bench, facing the wall.” “Why do I have to do that?” She replied with a simple “Because I said so.” “Alright,” I said, and sat on one of the benches, facing the wall, as she said. I saw Ms. Himmel, with her long brown hair and sturdy body, standing in front of me. Her oval head made her look like a pear. A very mad pear. She looked like someone who had had a really bad day. Her eyes looked red, like fire, as usual. I was worried about what was to come next. My emotions were swirling in my head. I heard myself worrying what would happen when my parents found out. I was crushed. Ms. Himmel had that twitching face, and I knew I was in trouble. I felt as if the pencil was a symbol of what was going to happen now. Some of my classmates could see a hint of anger and dismay on my face as I sat facing the wall. All eyes were on me as I shed a tiny tear. After the period ended, I was ready for my fate. I went to my classroom. But surprisingly, Ms. Himmel never came up to me. Instead, she continued the day as usual. I wondered if she had forgotten, or maybe she didn’t care anymore. I didn’t know if she was going to call home, and I was worried for the rest of the school day. I wondered to myself if I would be in big trouble. I went home, but nothing happened. The day suddenly seemed to have been made brighter as sunlight entered the house. I spoke to my mom, saying “I almost got sent to the principal’s office for something little again.” She and I had a long talk, and she

Months after an embarrassing incident at school, Emerson is faced with a difficult decision The most traumatizing thing that happened to me in all of elementary school took place in the fall of third grade. What is this? Oh, what happened to poor eight-year-old Emerson? Did a dear pet die? Was she tragically injured? No. Stuff like that doesn’t really happen to me. The worst moment in that year was possibly the most embarrassing thing to happen to me. Ever. Or at least it seemed like that. And it had consequences. It all started on a sunny November afternoon near the end of the school day. Ms. Algieri, my teacher, sent us outside to put an assignment in our backpacks, which were hanging on hooks on the outer wall of our classroom. I wandered outside with everyone else and unzipped my backpack. When we had put the paper in, we walked back to the class for science. Or most of us, at least. Not me. I didn’t head back to the class. Somehow I forgot about science and decided it was the end of the day. Absently humming a cheerful tune, I hitched up my backpack and skipped over the blacktop, around a row of classrooms to the playground. That morning, my friend Ashley and I had decided to meet there at the end of the day so we could walk to choir after school together. I noticed that her class hadn’t been released yet. Mr. Kahl always holds them back later than us. At least he hands out Jolly Ranchers. Maybe Ashley will have some—sour apple or blue raspberry, hopefully.  I skipped over the tanbark and clambered up to the top of the jungle gym. I was sitting there when my teacher came hurrying out over the blacktop toward me, black flower-print dress bobbing up and down with her bouncing jog. Her round, freckled face and dark smiling eyes, normally paired with a wide smile, were now squeezed into an expression of worry. I couldn’t see why, though. Why was she running toward me, anyhow? Suddenly time seemed to stop. In a glance I realized there were no other kids anywhere on the grounds, with the exception of a pair walking through the breezeways to a bathroom together. Normally, the place was flooded with students walking home or stopping at the playground. I froze. I realized my mistake. I began to panic, and my face turned bright red, prickling uncomfortably. Looking around, I wondered how I had ever missed the silence and stillness of the grounds. Untitled I chanced a glance at my classroom, which had one big window with a nice view of the playground. I knew this view very well. Sitting in the classroom you could easily see the part where I was climbing. The window was dark, and from my angle I couldn’t see my classmates inside. My imagination formed a detailed picture of what their faces looked like at the moment: Sophie staring in curiosity, Jamie in confusion. Bella whispering to Olivia. I was sure Diego and Jonah were holding back giggles. My imagination also created a very detailed and fleeting image in my brain of what my classmates were seeing right now, looking out the window. Me, sitting eight feet off the ground, backpack on, an hour before class had ended. To this day, this view my imagination created seems like a memory. My imagination was rampaging, running wild, making everything worse. The prickling became close to unbearable. This was absolutely terrible. Everyone, looking at me. Teacher, worried. Me, mindlessly wandering the playground when school hadn’t even ended. I quickly shot down from the playground and headed to Ms. Algieri. I didn’t dare look her in the eye. “I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered. Tears built up and pressed behind my eyeballs. No. Nonono! You can’t be crying! You’re in school right now! Your classmates await you! But I couldn’t stop the persistent tears. Before we had even come back to the classroom, tears were full-out streaming down my face. I hung up my backpack, still staring at my shiny, navy blue sneakers, and absently noted that my shoe was untied. I heaved a loud sniff. I tried with all my might to keep a neutral face, but my face was bright red and my eyes were puffy. Before I stepped into the classroom, I wiped my face on my sleeve. Hard. All the heads of my classmates turned and stared at me. This brought a new round of hiccupping sobs. I covered my face in my hands and stood there for what seemed like hours, when in reality it was no more than ten seconds. Then Ms. Algieri had the sense to excuse me to go to the bathroom. At first I just casually strolled out of the classroom, trying to look calm and careless. I looked at none of my classmates. But then the reality of life set in, and I began to jog out over the blacktop to the safety of the secluded bathroom stalls. When I got there, I sobbed in a stall. Soon my friends Nao, Katherine, and Sofia came over to comfort me. They mostly patted me, handed me wet paper towels, and quietly murmured soothing words. I don’t really remember much about that. Just that I was very grateful that they didn’t laugh (out loud, anyhow—some silly voice in my head confidently informed me that they were holding back mountains of giggles). On top of everything else, I also had a new reason to be embarrassed because I had seen how puffy and red my face was and how tearstained my cheeks were in the bathroom mirrors. My imagination was rampaging, running wild, making everything worse. The prickling became close to unbearable. Eventually I calmed down, and my friends and I headed back to class. People still stared at me, and I had tears in my eyes for the rest of the day. Small sniffs could sometimes be