A/N: ok, so my father picked me up from school on pajama day, took one look at me and made a face. "This is gonna sound dumb…", he said tentatively, "so promise not to laugh. But is today pajama day or something?"

"No", I replied sarcastically, "What do you think?"

And that's when a plot bunny jumped into my head.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Third-grader Samantha Collins was obsessed. She had enough sense to know that. She lived and breathed How to Train your Dragon. Every time someone said something related to it, she would be completely engaged, ready to both disagree and debate ("Hiccup is NOT useless! He just has his own way of doing things!") or to comment and add (I know, Toothless is the cutest thing it the world! He's just like my cat! And those ears…). She had seen the movie a total of 34 times, and could recite the script word-for-word on demand.

This particular morning, Samantha was much too tired. MUCH TOO TIRED! She had been up late last night watching "the Legend of the Boneknapper" and reading how to Train your Dragon FanFiction. She didn't want to even get out of bed, but she knew she had school. She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where she put her hair up in high pig-tails. She then ate breakfast and walked to the bus-stop, still slightly out of it.

She was used to the many giggles from her classmates. She just assumed it had to do with her colorful backpack covered with pins each trying to outdo the last, such as:

"A+ student"

"I'm not dead yet"

"Honor student"

"I survived the battle with the Red Death!"

That last one got many giggles. Yes, so this was why she didn't notice she forgot to change out of her footy pajamas… oops.

Mrs. Gilligan was the third-grade teacher at Rocklin elementary, and she hated her job. Dealing with annoying brats who didn't know two plus two was not her idea of fun. Why had she even taken this job? She knew the answer to that question once. But now, she had no clue. She had lost her spark.

While Samantha had missed the fine detail of her PJ's, Mrs. Gilligan was not so clueless. As soon as one of her students walked into her classroom dressed in… what was that anyways? No matter, it was definitely NOT uniform.

"Samantha, are you wearing pajamas?"

The girl turned around, looked down at her outfit, and turned the deepest shade of red Mrs. Gilligan had ever seen.

"Umm…" Samantha was at a loss for words. How could she have been so thick? She looked up at the glaring eyes of her teacher, and said the first words that popped into her head…

"Excuse me, Bar-maid, I believe you have brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered a extra-strong boy with Beefy arms, extra guts, and glory on the side! This here, this is a talking fishbone!"

For a moment, all was completely silent. Then whole class broke into loud and unwavering laughter. It seemed to fill every crevice and corner of the classroom, like a strongly sweet aroma. When the laughter finally began to die down (a good five minutes later) Samantha smiled sheepishly, and spoke thusly.

"I've been working on my accent."

Looking down at this red-faced, extremely innocent, and unconditionally adorable child, Mrs. Gilligan remembered. She remembered why she became a third-grade teacher in the first place. Because she wanted cute kids like this one to grow up and have good lives. In this case, perhaps even writers for Dream-works someday.

So Mrs. Gilligan went on with her lesson on ancient Nordic mythological creatures, and Samantha sat in her assigned seat, ready for one day of comfort, away from the stiff folds of her uniform.

Yes, the old teacher thought, I do believe I have my spark back.