memory

Anne Tam
Mrs. W. Gortney
Creative Writing – 3rd hour
7 February 1010
Escaping the Trouble
It was a nice summer day in the fifth grade, the birds chirping, the sun shining; everything was great. All except… report cards were due that day, and I had forgotten mine yet again. In elementary school, we all had to get our report cards signed within a week, or no credit would be received. The first couple days I had forgotten to get it signed, and I always mentally reminded myself to get it signed that night, but for a week straight I had forgotten to get that signature and the due date had finally approached.
I wriggled back and forth uncomfortably in my seat as the teacher announced that she would be coming around to check in report cards. I could feel my heart racing and my palms sweating as I waited for the dreaded moment of my teacher arriving at my table to check in my signature, and me telling her I had forgotten even after she gave us a week. As I watched the other students around me pulling their report cards out of their backpacks, I suddenly had an idea. Reaching into my backpack and then into my pencil case, I quickly pulled out a black ballpoint pen. Jamming the pen into my pocket, I also found my report card, folded it in half, and stuck it under my shirt. I jumped up from my seat and ran over to the teacher. “Miss Lacey, may I go to the bathroom?” I asked, politely. My teacher nodded, and I took off.
I ran into the bathroom, taking notice that no one was there. Letting out a sigh of relief, I quickly walked into one of the stalls. My heart was pounding with adrenaline and excitement as I pulled the report card out from under my shirt and the pen from my pocket. I pressed the report card up against the cold side wall of the stall, lifted my pen, and before I could think about what I was doing, I quickly scribbled my mom’s signature above the “Parent/Guardian Signature” line. As I finished the last mark on my mother’s signature, I put the pen back into my pocket and took a step back to admire my work. Not bad. I told myself as a smile crept onto my face. To pretend that I had actually used the toilet, I flushed before shoving the report card back under my shirt and leaving the bathroom.
Making my way back into the classroom, I scanned the classroom for my teacher’s whereabouts. As I spotted her a couple feet away from where my desk sat, I briskly walked over to my desk and sat down. Looking around, I made sure that no one was watching before quickly pulling out the report card out from under my shirt. Unfolding it, I placed it on my desk, sat back in my chair and relaxed as I waited for the teacher to reach me. A couple minutes later, the teacher was standing in front of me checking in my report card. I held my breath as I watched the teacher’s eyes scan over the signature, every second seeming like an hour. I’m going to get caught. I thought silently to myself, as fear started to rise within me. However, the teacher just smiled, said “Good. Thank you.”, and walked on to the next desk.
I sat still for a couple seconds, as if not fully comprehending that I had gotten away with forging my mother’s signature. As the fear within me started to mitigate, I felt another smile creep onto my face. Putting my head down, I laughed silently, still not believing I had gotten away with such a thing.