The paper airplane landed gracefully into a patch of bare skin just above the collarbone of the whiny redhead named Tasha, who sat one desk to the left of J, who sat dead center – in the very back row of the classroom; she jumped and started to cry immediately, rubbing her skin and looking around like a hunted animal. J stifled a laugh best she could and shot a look at S, sitting in the far right hand desk about a meter away from the teacher’s desk. S was turned completely around in her seat, staring at J with those searing green eyes, intensely willing something.
Typically, the two young trouble-makers could communicate almost totally through expression and mannerisms, but J was at a loss as to what S was trying to tell her this time. The teacher, Ms. Melody (whose name only cruelly misled any student going into her kindergarten class), spun on her cane in front of the chalkboard, accidentally flinging the stick of chalk that she had been using across the room and hitting the aid in the rear who silently graded papers. The aid wore his earphones and paid little attention to the classroom happenings while he was there, so he was caught completely off guard by the sudden smack of a stick of chalk against his brow, and nearly started enough to flip his chair over backwards – papers flying up over his head and landing like snowflakes on his lap and around his surprised form as they settled. The class exploded in laughter then, a cacophony of high-pitched voices, snickering in glee at the impromptu spectacle; Ms. Melody washed over with that reddened look of shocked outrage that was so familiar o the children, S and J especially, and barked an order that was snuffed out by the collective noise.
Pick up the airplane!!!
The thought finally struck J as if a mallet had from behind, and she scrambled to grab the small folded note that S had (poorly) thrown only nano-seconds before the aid was shot by the teacher with a piece of rogue chalk.
J mumbled to herself as she swiped up the note with an extended lean over her desk, almost flipping headfirst onto the carpet, herself, in the process.
In a single motion that both S and J had come to interpret as Doom, Ms. Melody snapped her left handed fingers and pointed at S in the front of the classroom, all while locking eyes with J in the very back at the same time, and for a very long and drawn out moment.
“Give me the note right now, J.”
the teacher said calmly.
“May I read it first?”
asked J, sincerely.
The click of Ms. Melody’s tongue gave J her answer, and she stood, looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, looked over to S (who sat with a condemned look of guilt on her puckered face), and nonchalantly put the paper in her mouth, chewing it briefly before swallowing. The class exploded again with unruly hysterics that only 5 year old children can produce; and J noticed the aid nearby drop his jaw open and let it hang. S began to clap loudly from the front row, and soon enough the rest of the class joined in the applause. Spittle flew from Ms. Melody’s mouth as she seemed to combust verbally in an outburst of all things Teacher; she was pissed.