It’s me again! And don’t worry, no one gets buried alive in this post. That’s just what I decided to call it – you’ll find out why later.
This incident happened on the same day of the nightmare rugby lesson, just as break was coming to an end. I was rummaging through my outrageously overstuffed backpack at the start of a maths lesson. In the changing rooms, I had squished and squeezed my muddy PE stuff to the bottom of my bag, leaving everything I needed for lessons at the top. But not quite everything, I realised, as the maths teacher walked into the room. Everything, I discovered, as we were told to sit down, but my pencil case. Everything, I panicked, as test papers were handed out, but the one thing I needed to write. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no, I thought.
Why couldn’t it have been my water bottle? I could survive without water for an hour! Or my reading book? We were never allowed to read in maths lessons anyway! Why why why WHY did it have to be my pencil case?!
I glanced around the classroom, biting my lip. People were waiting for the teacher to let them begin the test. The teacher was handing out the last of the papers. And I was panicking.
Plunging my hand into the depths of my bag, past lost hairbands and discarded rubbers, past muddy (and slightly stinky) PE t-shirts, I reached desperately for my abandoned pencil case. I felt something sharp (probably my compass) and winced, but also something long… and rectangular – and distinctly pencil case-y! I grabbed hold of what I hoped was my pencil case, and tugged and tugged and tugged. But it wouldn’t budge. Not one centimetre.
My maths teacher had handed out the very last test paper, and was returning to his desk. In a desperate attempt to get to my lost stationary, I grabbed a handful of smelly PE kit and pulled until it came loose. I almost laughed out loud as my pencil case came into view. Taking it out of my bag like it was a trophy, I sat down in my chair, triumphant. Next week, I was definitely bringing an extra bag.