1
Houston, We Are a Go
Jessie
“Miss Nickleby, if I don’t clean my room, will the tornado come gobble my house up like a cookie?” Nia stared up at me as she hugged her scrawny little legs to her chest.
“Like a cookie?” I echoed.
“Yeah.” The little girl nodded. “My mom says a tornado came through my room because I didn’t clean it up.”
“My mom says the same thing!” the boy behind her piped. Several other students nodded.
“Oh, I see what you mean.” I closed the book, using my thumb as a bookmark. “No, honey. That’s just an expression. Real tornadoes don’t happen in people’s rooms. They’re far too big. Remember,” I wriggled my eyebrows at my kindergarteners and opened the book to point at one of the pictures inside, “tornadoes can’t think. They’re just bunches of water, heat, and wind all bundled together. So they can’t punish you for not cleaning your rooms.”
“My cat likes to hide under my bed when I don’t clean my room,” Elsie announced.
“My dog’s name is Carlton,” one of the boys called, which, of course, led to a chorus of pet-related declarations.
“I don’t like dogs.”
“But dogs are the best.”
“I have a cat. But I want a dinosaur instead!”
I sighed and looked back down at the picture book. Well, halfway through was better than yesterday, when the class had lasted two whole pages before breaking into incomprehensible, random babble. But before I could bemoan the rocky ending of my last science unit, I realized four of the faces that should have been staring up at me weren’t there at all. Having one of these boys missing at all spelled trouble. Missing four of them was incomprehensible. Especially on the last day of school.
I had just stood to look in earnest when I spotted them behind the miniature bookshelf in the math corner.
“Everyone, please go back to your tables and color the pictures I left for you on our weather unit. Blue shirts first.” As soon as the children were more or less engaged, I approached the four boys standing in the corner, who were still giggling to themselves.
“May I ask what you’re all doing?”
They all whipped around, looking terrified and then sheepish in turn.
“Well?” I pressed.
Finally, D’ante answered, though he stared at the ground the entire time.
“We put sand from the sandbox in our pants.”
This should have been a shock. But, to my dismay, I realized it wasn’t. “So…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Would you like to explain to mewhyyou put sand in your pants?”On the last day of school?I wanted to add.
Joshua was crying by now, and D’ante at least had the sense to look embarrassed, but Alexander and Jose were still snickering at each other. And sure enough, below each of them sat a huge pile of sand all over the carpet I had just vacuumed. Twice.
“Jose said he could fit more in his underwear than any of us.” Alexander grinned. “So we decided to see if he was right.”
“One, two, three! Eyes on me!”
I looked up to see Madison waltz into the room, and I silently blessed my friend as the children chanted back, “One, two! Eyes on you!”
“Start putting away your centers and stand at your tables. When I call your shirt color, come sit down on your spot on the carpet.” Madison called, shooing a few wandering kindergarteners back to their tables. “Show me how fast you can do it! Go! And you four.” She came to stand beside me, crossing her arms and giving the four boys the stink-eye. “You’ll be in first grade next year, and then I’ll have you in my classroom.” She leaned down and glowered at Jose and Alexander, who were still poking one another and giggling. They stopped, however, when she was inches away, giving them her most withering look. “And if you do something like this again, I’ll have your parents here so fast you won’t know what happened. Understand?”
Three of the boys nodded, but Jose piped, “My dad’s deployed. You can’t call him!”
Madison gave him her most evil grin, and I nearly laughed as he took a step back. “Just watch me,” she whispered.
His smile disappeared, and his eyes grew to the size of sand dollars.
