I do not own Recess.

Chapter Two: Christopher

Spinelli woke up at seven that morning. After showering and having corn flakes for breakfast she tied her hair back in a French braid, letting a few strands of her medium length bangs frame around her face.

She wore a dark red blouse and a gray pin stripped skirt that was tight around her thighs but she didn't think too much of it; it wasn't like she'd get cat calls like she would from Seniors are the High School. Her students still believed in cooties.

She threw on a pair of black, shiny flats and grabbed her laptop case and purse, finally leaving the house fifteen minutes to 9 o'clock.

She hopped in her sliver Kia Optima, the only thing she didn't need to make payments on, and drove the four blocks to 3rd Street School. She was grateful her parents had gotten her the car as a graduation present from College, completely paid for and all hers.

Pulling up to the yellow bricked school, she made sure her car was locked and made her way towards the entrance.

Some students and teachers she passed by greeted her warmly, while she nodded in response, ready to make it to her class. Her first period wouldn't begin until fifteen minutes after the bell, which meant she'd only get to teach them for twenty-five minutes every two days. The reason they did that was because it was the first class of the day, and the "core" teacher needed to take roll, they had to say the Pledge of Allegiance and they had to sit through the morning announcements.

She got the classroom ready; setting an extra stool up in the row of tall tables and metal stools, remember the text saying a new student that would be in her first class from last night.

She picked up a few scrap pieces of papers the janitor had failed to pick up Friday and re-washed the paint brushes in the permanently paint stained sink.

After almost twenty minutes she heard the door open and turned to see her friend, Mrs. Turnbee, lead the class of first graders into the room. Spinelli smiled, walking to the front of the room as the students climbed into their assigned seats and pulled out their Art journal. She couldn't find the new student within the class and before she could ask if he was here that day, Mrs. Turnbee had already left.

Spinelli sighed, "Good morning, class."

"Good morning Miss Spinelli." The class chimed back in unison. Spinelli smiled and walked back over to her desk, pulling up the attendance page on her laptop and reading through the names. A chorus of here and not here echoed the quiet classroom.

Spinelli's eyes finally fell on a name she didn't recognize. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly. She did recognize the name!

"C-Christopher D-Detweiler?" Spinelli called, scanning the classroom. A small hand reached high into the air, "Here." The small boy called. Spinelli could see him clearly from her desk and she felt her heart clench.

He was the spitting image of her friend. Shagging brown hair with deep green eyes and a small amount of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He looked a little scared and none of the students around him seemed to be paying him much attention.

She nodded slowly, snapping back to reality and continued to call roll. Once she was done she called Christopher up to her desk. He jumped down from the tall stool and walked towards her, twiddling her thumbs nervously. She couldn't get it out of her head how much he looked like him at that age.

She brushed her skirt under her and knelt down to him, smiling, "Hello, Christopher, I'm Miss Spinelli."

He nodded nervously. She half smiled, "It must be scary being in a new school."

He nodded. "Well," She said, "You'll need a notebook for this class for your drawings, and you'll have to come prepared, alright?"

He nodded. She half smiled, "Go back to your seat, okay? That'll be your seat the rest of the year."

He nodded and hurried back to the stool at the table in the back of the class. Spinelli stood up and walked to the front of the room, "Alright kids, today we'll be using paint. I want the Table Leaders to go get enough brushes and paint for everyone at your table and pass them down."

Once she said this, a student from each of the four tables jumped from their stool and ran to the back cabinet. Once they all returned from passing out the brushes and paints to everyone at their tables, Spinelli continued. "Everyone is going to paint Family Portraits of who you live with, alright? This is due at the end of class. If you have any questions feel free to raise your hand or come ask me."

With that, Spinelli retreated back to her desk while the students began their work.

Once the class was over Spinelli instructed for everyone to leave the paints on the tables while Mrs. Turnbee returned and lead the students out of the class room and back to their "core" class.

Spinelli walked around, studying everyone's different paintings. Finally, Spinelli can to Christopher's painting. She studied that only two people were in the painting, him and his father. Spinelli half smiled, noticing how Christopher painted some red hat on the top of his father's head. He really was her childhood best friend's son.

She was curious to know where the mother was. Has she passed away? Were they divorced?

She desperately wanted to talk to her friend again. After doing the math, her friend must have had Christopher only a year or so after High School. She was twenty-six and first graders were normally between the ages of six and seven.

She walked over to the computer and clicked on Christopher's name and read all the information that went along with it.

His full name was Christopher Jasper Detweiler; he was born on May 5th, so he was six years old and wouldn't be seven until the end of the school year. His parent or Guardian was listed as, Theodore Jasper Detweiler, listed as father, and his phone number was listed for emergencies or for teachers to contact him.

Spinelli realized something that caused her to slap her forehead in frustration. On the first day of school teachers are suppose give the students papers to give to their parents if they need to contact them, and tell them what would be happening that school year. She never gave one to Christopher.

She stared at the e-mail address TJ had provided the school and wondered if e-mailing the information to him would be okay. They hadn't talked in over ten years when he moved away in the middle of fifth grade.

Finally, she copied the e-mail and pulled up her Yahoo and started to compose a new e-mail. Seeing as she was a teacher and she didn't want to just e-mail him. It had been over ten years. He might not even remember her. She decided to try and sound as formal as possible and if he recognized her, he'd come up to the school to say hi or something. She began to type.

Hello Mr. Detweiler,

I am your son's Art Teacher, Miss Spinelli. I'm sorry to be disturbing you, but I forgot to send home a letter with your son explaining this year's curriculum and my contact information.

You're son is in good hands, sir. I have studied art since 7th grade myself, and majored in it at the University of Ohio.

If you have any questions or concerns, you can contact me at the school, my room number is 555-4896 and, of course, you can always e-mail me at this address. I hope you have a good day.

Miss. A. Spinelli