The bell rang. The kids began to move to the door. I called them back.
“They’ll call for second floor when they’re ready for you to go to the pep rally.”
So the students milled about the room. Began to talking loudly. Wormed towards the door. After all, it would only a minute or so.
Then a voice came over the PA, but I couldn’t clearly hear what they said over the hubbub in the room. The kids began to leave.
“Nope,” I said loudly. “They’ll call us.”
There were objections. There were corrections. They looked at me as they do when I trip over myself squeezing between the desks, an “Are you feeling ok?” kind of look.
“Did they call us?” I asked.
“Yes,” they insisted.
“Go!” I said, waving them on in a Tracy Ullman way.
They streamed into the hall, turned left, and headed to the gym.
Problem is, other than them, the halls were empty. Ghostly quiet. And five minutes later, a voice came over the PA, “Second floor may go to the pep rally.”
They so scammed me.