First Grade Story
By Isabel Kelly

When I was in first grade, I had my own special pencil container where I kept all my essential school supplies and more. It was a leathery cylindrical pouch, strawberry red, and had a silver zipper across the top. Thatís where I kept all the little trinkets I was constantly begging my mother to buy me at the store. ìDidnít I already buy you a pencil sharpener last week?î she would ask me incredulously. But my mom didnít understand. My obsession for collecting these precious objects was insatiable.

I loved touching my little bag and feeling how fat and bumpy it was. I would then open the zipper and peek at all my beautiful treasures, like a rich man contemplating his money. Sometimes, I would take all of them out and line them up in neat rows, creating all kinds of geometrical patterns. I would organize them by size and then by color. I would start with my favorite one on the left, and line them up ending with my least favorite on the right. Then, one by one, I would put my collection back, making sure my favorite one ended up in the best spot inside the pouch. One day, as I was looking around the classroom at all the different trinkets my classmates had on their desks, my desk buddy, Natalia Hernandez, and I concocted an infallible plan, or at least so we thought.

As soon as the school bell rang and the teacher walked the line of students to the school patio for recess, we hid in the bathroom and waited until the hallways were clear. The rule was that NO students were to stay inside the building during recess. I suspect teachers had their coffee break at this time, since all we could hear were the childrenís voices coming in from the playground. We fearlessly tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the classroom and started to collect our treasures: erasers, pencil sharpeners and pencils. They were animal shaped, sparkly and beautiful; and we wanted them all.

We successfully gathered our booty, fifteen or twenty in all, and set about to evenly divide it. ìOne for you, one for me . . .î Yet, there was the one butterfly shaped, multicolored eraser. It was definitely the best one, and we both wanted it. Lucky for me, at the end of the count, it was mine. So, the arguing started. ìI had the idea for the plan,î Natalia said angrily, ìso you need to give it to me.î ìI like it and it landed on my pile,î I said stubbornly. ìAnd I am going to keep it.î Natalia couldnít reconcile with this injustice and she was furious.

By this time, students had come in from recess and the teacher was ready to start her lesson. Natalia and I, oblivious to what the rest of the class was doing, continued our bitter dispute in whispers, making sure our divided booty was well protected in our desks.

All of a sudden, we heard the voice of a distressed first grader, ìMrs. A, I canít find my pencil.î ìMy eraser is gone,î said another. The perplexed teacher quickly became aware that something was amiss. I started to panic. My heart was rattling so fast in my chest, I could barely sit still. But Natalia wasnít scared. She was convinced that the butterfly eraser should be in her pile. And I wasnít going to budge; the eraser was mine.

As the teacher was frantically trying to figure out what in the world had happened in her classroom, and the students were looking behind chairs and under desks for their belongings, Natalia came up with a brilliant first grade idea. She got up from her chair and resolutely walked up to the teacherís desk. She proceeded to tell Mrs. A. that I had kept the best eraser for myself and that just wasnít fair. Mrs. A glanced towards my desk and now my fast rattling heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I instantly realized what I had done.

Natalia and I shared the blame. I presume that parents were called, tears were wiped and lectures were given. Most importantly, a lesson was learned. Partners in crime should be chosen carefully.