Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash
Jeremy’s mother packed his lunch. Every evening, she carefully placed a of cola, a bologna sandwich, and an apple into the red lunchbox. Every morning, Jeremy took the lunchbox – which had images of various X-Men characters imprinted on its side – with him while he rode the bus down to his elementary school.
Jeremy was in third grade, which meant lunch was at eleven-thirty. Lunch for kindergarteners was at ten-thirty. For first grade it was at ten-fifty. For second grade it was at eleven-ten. The entire elementary school finished by lunch by twelve-thirty, which was when the cafeteria workers got to eat.
Out of concern for his health, Jeremy’s mother refused to let him buy school lunch. But that didn’t stop Jeremy from trading his bologna sandwich for corndogs and chicken nuggets when he arrived at school. He never traded the can of cola, though. Not even for the strawberry milk the cafeteria sometimes stocked.
Everyone in Jeremy’s class – Mrs. Mill’s class, one of three third-grade classes – sat at the same lunch table. Jeremy sat on one side with his friends, who were generally acknowledge to be the class clowns. One quarter of the boys in his class were on prescriptions for ADHD, but Ricki and Mateo flushed theirs down the toilet whenever there weren’t any adults around. Mrs. Mill had given them both squishy pads to sit on so they could squirm around in their chairs without making enough noise to disturb the rest of the class.
On one particular day in March, Mateo was doing what eight-year-old boys do best: teasing some of the girls in the class. He made a rude comment about Sally, who was a little sensitive about her weight. Jeremy was, at that moment, taking a big swig from his Coca-Cola. He chortled and nearly choked and the black soda went into his nasal passages. He snorted and black liquid came spewing out of his nostrils, all over the Ricki’s tray. Which only caused all of them to laugh harder. Mateo nearly fell off of his stool giggling
Sally, who felt peeved at being called the F-word (f-a-t), piped up, “You’re so disgusting, Jeremy. I’m going to tell Mrs. Mill on you.”
“Oh, don’t be such a snitch, Sal.”
“Yeah, Sal, don’t be a fat snitch.”
“Now I’m really going to tell! You three are so gross. And not nice!”
They apologized and attempted to convince her not to say anything about the cola-spewing incident, but to no avail. Jeremy grew a bit nervous, although neither Mateo, nor Ricki, seemed to think it would turn into a Big Deal.
After recess, they returned to class. As soon as they were in their seats, Sally raised her hand.
“Mrs. Mill,” she called.
“Yes, Sally. What is it?”
“Jeremy’s got something he needs to tell you.”
“Oh, does he?”
“He made a mess at lunch.”
“Jeremy, what happened.”
Jeremy squirmed for a moment, but decided that the only way out was through and that therefore the best course of action was to tell the truth.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mill.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Well, you see, just now, in the lunchroom.”
“You can tell me. It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mill, I just couldn’t help it. I snorted Coke in the lunchroom.”
Nice capitalization of "Big Deal". Third-grade me gets that.