Pizza Party

The children of Room Ten (except Ralph Buyer, who’s absent again) at Carver Elementary School are standing in line, ramrod straight, heads forward, mouths
closed. They are waiting for their teacher to pick them up from the yard. It’s Monday, and it’s their sixteenth day of excellent lineup behavior. Four more days of perfect morning lineup behavior and they get to have a pizza party.

Their teacher, Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, has promised them. And she always keeps her promises. So they wait, arms at their sides, mouths empty of chewing gum, lips pressed together against conversation spilling out. Well, Richard can see Calvin Vickers rolling his shoulders every once in a while-which he can completely understand, because suddenly he’s feeling a teensy bit antsy too. Richard wishes he could run in place–just a little. Its hard to hold this very still posture. He sneaks a look at the main buildings closed double doors. The doors Ms. Shelby-Ortiz usually comes through when she picks them up from the yard.

Most of the teachers have already picked up their classes and are walking back in that direction at the front of their lines. But nearly all of those lines are loose lines, Richard notes. Not straight. Not quiet. Not everyone keeping their hands to their sides. He sees Montel Mitchell yank the hem of Brianna’s jacket. She turns around and yells something at him, and their teacher just keeps walking them toward the main building like she doesn’t even notice. Richard lets out a tiny laugh. He’s pleased that Room Ten’s line has out shined all other lines for the past sixteen days. He’s pleased that he’s done his share.