Three Days At School

Third day of school. My empty pocket. Not empty when I got there.

I wasn’t the first victim, so I got about seven sympathetic ears. Other students, also robbed. Some from their desks, others from their backpacks. I was the only one to get pickpocketed.

Everyone blamed the girl who sits in front of me. I guess there was something about her easy to blame. Her greasy black hair, the dirt under her fingernails, her Goodwill shirts too big. From some angles, she looked like a witch. Kids spread rumors that she actually was one, and that she read your mind and got so deep into your thoughts that she could just rob you. Just like that.

Fourth day of school. I had a twenty-dollar bill for an after school club, but I’d take no risks. I brought my things in a little luggage. 9-3-6, I kept in my head. Don’t forget the lock’s combination.

After coming back to class from recess, the bill was gone. Stolen.

The girl who sits in front of me stayed in for recess to clap erasers. After the teacher had left, she was alone.

I wasted no time accusing her, accumulating the clouded support of my classmates. The teacher said nothing. Only stared at us, frown hanging.

Fifth day of school. I kept myself busy in my own thoughts. Wondered what Friday’s special lunch would be. It would serve me well distract myself from everyone’s glare peeling layers off my classmate’s back. Her face, her gloomy eyes, could have drawn out my own tears. At this angle, she looked like no witch. Through the little beads welling up in my eyes, I saw a girl. Just a girl.

“Corn chip pie,” said the teacher, passing by my desk, nose buried in a file.