The Giant Crab Shell Story...

When I was seven I wrote a story about a giant crab shell that people lived in. It was huge. It was a bit of a masterpiece, apparently, but what else would you expect from the only kid in the class who spelt 'circus' right in the second-grade spelling bee? Not that I remember what this crab story was about anymore- but because of that story my teacher told me that I could go into the classroom,as soon as I arrived at school in the mornings, and write or read stories; which is where I happened to be the day that the cleaner discovered our footprints in the classroom.

Apparently, she had waxed the floor on the Friday afternoon before- and there were some very obvious signs that some children had gotten in over the weekend, little footprints being the first clue. So there I was, sitting in the book nook, which was a big privilege I might add, feeling dreadful because I knew that it was only a matter of time before they realised it was us; my Sisters, their friends and myself, who had found an open window of my second grade classroom and gone in it.

They realised it was kids straight away; because for one thing, the only things we had stolen were empty exercise books for us to draw and write stories in- which is hardly criminal right? Not that there was some great paper shortage in the early 1980's either- in fact, my Mother was a teacher and used to bring us home empty work books and stationery all the time. I think we just liked the idea of being in there when we weren't allowed to be, just as we liked reading things we weren't meant to read.

We were probably in there an hour or more; my Sister's ate some food out of the headmistress's staffroom and made cups of tea. I looked under all of my friend's desks. One boy, who I didn't like but can still name, had a Sprite yoyo that he must have forgotten to take home with him for the weekend. He never saw it again. Not that I got to enjoy it for long either. The guilt over stealing it got to me and I told my Father's friends about it, just the yo-yo part- not the whole lot; and he took it off me and gave it to his son. I hope he enjoyed it. It was only new and still spun really well.

But on that Monday morning I was the most important kid in the second grade. I ran up to the primary playground and told my Sister and her friends that the teacher and the cleaner knew someone had been in there, and for the rest of the day ran secret messages back and forth- no, they didn't know who had done it yet; no, they hadn't called the police- but in the end we weren't caught by anyone...

One of my sister's friends blabbed to her mother, who then told our Mother, who then marched us up to the school to confess to the Principal and apologise. I can't remember what punishment, if any, was given to my Sisters and their friends but I got off Scott-free, most likely as I had neglected to tell him about the things that I had stolen. And I didn't even lose my early morning's writing in the classroom. Apparently,being the youngest, it was just assumed that I hadn't been a part of the master plan and had merely gone along with it.

Little did they know I had been the first one through the window...