Brinnnnnnnnnggggggg!

The children of Jerome Howitz Elementary school bristled with cheer when the recess bell released them from their seats and sent them fleeing outside, gleeful expressions shining in their bright eyes. It was during this forty-five minutes of freedom that Mr. Krupp would patrol the classrooms silently, his careful scrutiny sweeping over the gaily colored molded plastic chairs, posters, and lesson agendas, sipping his coffee and enjoying the serenity of a room without the clamor of schoolchildren nor the turmoil of his office. Once or twice, a baffled teacher had lead their children inside only to find him reading an article on his phone with his feet propped up on one of the back desks, and he'd try to shrug it off jokingly, act like he was there to see the lesson plan as a surprise visit. After all, no one had expected him to be there, not even Mr. Krupp himself. The classrooms were always serene, always dark save for the few streams of light dancing through the windows, always completely alone.

So, of course, it came as a surprise when he stepped into Ms. Ribble's classroom with his non-fat mocha cappuccino only to find somebody else had already beaten him to it. At his usual perch, a familiar freckled ginger sat cross-legged on the back desk, eating his packed lunch out of a paper bag monotonously as he used a small penlight to read a copy of the Encyclopedia Brittanica, hazel eyes flickering back and forth over the pages.

The principal cleared his throat softly, hoping to provide at least a warning of his arrival. As predicted, he looked up and gasped, his eyes frozen behind his large glasses.

"May I ask why you've chosen to stay inside rather than joining your classmates, Melvin?"

The boy closed the volume and slid it to the side as if it were something to be ashamed of, rolled up his empty paper bag and reoriented it beside his lunch, looked down at the flat wooden surface and started tracing patterns absently on the desk with his finger.

"I don't feel that there's anything productive I could do with the time, sir." He bit his lower lip and winced when Mr. Krupp stepped forward, digging a folded slip of pale key lime paper out of his pocket and sliding it forward for him to see, shifting his weight from one knee to the other as the administrator leaned forward to read it.

May 23, 2017

Excuse: Lunch break/Recess

Student: Melvin Sneedly

Teacher Signature: Regina Ribble

This pass didn't have a reason for excuse, but it didn't need one. The ink smudged on his callused thumb when he peered closely at the signature, double-checking for forgery, though he knew at the first glance it was her stamp, her trademark scent, even her favorite pen color-bright crimson, the type used to slash into a bad paper- scribbled hastily across the pass.

"Wait here. I need to head back to my office for just a minute." Mr. Krupp said roughly, in that special sharp tone he used to make children halt in place almost involuntarily, unable to move from the spot until he returned. (It had worked on nine hundred and ninety-eight of the pupils he'd enrolled; but those two were special cases.)

Melvin nodded just once before he drew his knees to his chest and shivered, blinking back nervous tears and the hot blush spreading across his face when his principal strode out of the room. A minute passed, and he laced his fingers together, watching the pressure turn his joints milky white, running one finger across the riveted edge of his silver wristwatch.

Three minutes ticked by, and he couldn't stop the question from entering his mind, the possibility leading to an entire realm of worry and insecurity.

What if he gives me detention?

Five minutes.

Augggghh, Shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutup, What if he calls my parents? What if he's calling STOP IT! my parents right now, what if he's telling them how much NO, YOU'RE BETTER THAN THAT, of an insecure loser I am, how I can't even go outside, what if he NO HE DOESN'T knows how I asked Ms. Ribble to sign the pass right as George and Harold started drawing their comic books, how I handed her the pass and waited until she wrote my name, then told her that I was pretty sure that new issue of General Trousers or whatnot starred her, ISN'T THAT LYING? What if he calls the police? Am I going to go to JAIL?!

Fifteen minutes had passed before Mr. Krupp returned to the classroom, a small briefcase in hand.

Melvin, as he had expected, was still exactly where he had been last, though with an almost imperceptible film of fog on his glasses, his knuckles turning white and his cheeks pink. What had happened? Was he broken? Fourth-graders, as he had seen numerous times, rarely teared up, even in the worst of situations.

"Melvin. Please, calm down. You know my paycheck gets cut if a student manages to die on campus."

"Plea-" his voice cracked with the sheer anxiety, and he cleared his throat and began again, "Please don't send me to jail, I'll-I'll go to recess, sir!"

A puzzled expression crossed Mr. Krupp's features, and he shrugged it off.

"I can't say I'm certain what you're talking about, but you're the captain of the chess club, correct?"

"Yes?" He offered uncertainly. (Technically, Melvin was the only member of the Chess Club, and since he had founded it, he declared it a unanimous vote towards his presidency.)

The principal set the briefcase onto the table, flipping it open to reveal a faded chess board and well-worn pieces.

"In that case, what do you say to a match against yours truly?" he offered, a mischievous grin spreading as he snagged one of Melvin's Oreos. The schoolchild beamed and pulled one of the nearby chairs to meet him, setting out his packed lunch once more and giving a cheerful thumbs-up.

"Yeah, I guess you and I both need a break-I mean, anything's better than doing paperwork." Mr. Krupp chuckled softly.

And the room was calming once more.