Meanwhile...In Southaven

"No one is leaving until one of you return Sadie's lunch box! I don't care if your parents have to wait in the parking lot all night!"

Those heated words came from Mrs. Pleasant, she meant business. I’d never seen her eyes swell to the point of exploding before. She was irate and one of us was going to be in big trouble.

We had just returned to the classroom from a routine fire drill, lollygagging and misbehaving along the way when we were told to keep quiet and stay in a single file line. Lunchtime was just thirty minutes away. This is when Sadie discovered her lunch box missing. Mrs. Pleasant was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, so was I...

*

I enjoyed fifth grade. It's one of those transitional years. Fourth grade is the last year in which you can get away with being a dumb kid. During that year, your brain goes through an intermediate stage of development and gets a sudden burst of clarity. I'm not talking about puberty or nothing awkward like that. I'm talking about realizing that you are someone, but who?

During summer break, when fourth grade becomes a mere afterthought, the brain cells multiply by the millions, perhaps billions, resulting in the synapses aligning in a way that you can actually figure stuff out on your own. This lessens the burden on your parents from having to answer silly questions like, "Mom, why does the mailman bring mail?" or "Mom, how come dogs can't talk?" or my personal favorite, "Dad, where do babies come from?" I began to formulate answers to my own questions. I was right there with Mrs. Pleasant, wondering who the culprit was. She continued her inquiry.

"Sadie, darling, tell me again, where did you leave your lunch box?"

Sadie was shy, her eyes darted side to side, sneaking looks at the other kids in her peripheral before she spoke.

"Um, I left it right there, right beside all the other boxes!"

She pointed to a long steel ledge in the back of the classroom where we hung our coats. There were square slots above the hooks where you can easily slide a lunchbox or bag into. It wasn't hard for everyone's eyes to go directly to the area where her box used to be — it was the only empty spot. She continued her nervous speech.

"It was my favorite, um...um the one with Spiderman flying in the air with his web and his friends. It was blue and red and-"

"Yes, yes. I remember the one. Thank you, Sadie. We will get it back for you."

Mrs. Pleasant didn't trust any of us. Her exasperated eyes could dissolve lead, like Superman's heat ray vision. She was fully equipped with a coercive ruler, ready to whack one of us if we got out of line. This was the mid 60s, so child abuse was off the table. It was good ole teacher/student discipline back then.

Her pointy pumps dragging across the old, wooden floor was the only sound heard as she traveled from desk to desk to take a closer look at our personal spaces. She instructed each one of us to lift up the top part of the desk so she could inspect what was inside the storage compartments. We were fortunate to have new desks that year with attached chairs and pencil holders. When things got boring, (which was quite often) I would sometimes daydream I was sitting in the pilot's seat of a Lockheed Blackbird and everyone in the room was the evil enemy.

Sauntering her way around, she approached Jimmy Carbone’s desk with caution. She trusted him the least. His cherub face was already drenched in sweat like the thermostat had been cranked to ninety.

Jimmy was mysterious, always getting in trouble for talking... to himself that is. I felt he had the best motive for stealing the lunchbox because his parents' lacked creativity in the kitchen department. He brought the same lame lunch every day — a dry bologna sandwich with leaf lettuce, six soda crackers and a dark red plum. Curiosity paired with jealousy may have overridden his sense of good judgment. He wanted what was in another kid's lunchbox. Jimmy was the prime suspect on my list.

He put his head down on the desk, pretending he was sick. Mrs. P was fresh out of sympathy, she ordered him to open the desk, but he didn't want to. He was hiding something. She asked him again, getting right in his face while raising the ruler above her head. All he did was move to the side so his legs were in the aisle. She opened the desk herself, then let out a horrific scream...

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?"

She instantly recoiled five feet back which prompted several boys including me to spring out of our seats to see what it was.

"IT'S A RAT! GET IT OUT OF HERE!" she yelled.

After seeing for myself what it was, I offered my two cents,

"It's a hamster, Mrs. Pleasant, not a rat!"

The class began to laugh while settling back in their seats.

"Jimmy! Why do you have a rat in your desk?" the teacher asked while cautiously peeking inside.

He turned to face her.

"His name is Perkins. He don't feel so good. I had to bring him to school so I can take care of him. Please don't make him leave, he won't hurt you."

Jimmy's pleading words tugged at Mrs. Pleasant's compassion. She can be one, strict, son-of-a-gun but wasn't a monster.

"Okay, Jimmy. He can stay but under one condition... you have to put him in a box or something. I'll call the janitor to see if he can bring one."

We were all excited, not just Jimmy. The janitor, Mr. Kingsley, entered the room with a small glass tank he borrowed from science class. Jimmy carefully placed Perkins in the tank along with a few items including a spent toilet paper roll, a stalk of celery and a few pieces of thick cardboard. He said Perkins liked to chew on cardboard when he wasn't feeling well.

We were allowed to look at the hamster through the glass tank as the teacher continued her raid of the desks. A few minutes after she finished her investigation, she called us back to our seats.

"Whoever took the lunchbox didn't leave any evidence." she said with a defeated look. I quickly raised my hand.

"Yes, John, you have a question?"

"Yes, mam... what is ebidense?"

She realized we weren't privy to her fancy words.

"It’s like a clue. For example, if you were to take the last cookie out the jar and your mother finds crumbs on your nightstand, she would know you took the cookie because the crumbs are evidence. Does that make sense to anyone?"

It made sense to me. Everyone else was fixated on Perkins going in and out of the paper roll. I raised my hand again.

"Yes, John!"

"Can you ask Sadie what kind of food was in her box?"

"Sadie! Did you hear that? What did your mother make you for lunch?"

The young, quiet girl couldn't believe someone was asking another question. Her eyes reacted the same way before she spoke.

"Um, uhh... a cheese sandwich! Yeah, I always get that on tuesdee."

The word was Tuesday, but we all knew what she meant. I turned to Sadie and asked her the next question directly.

"What else was in there?"

She lifted her eyes toward the teacher as if my question required permission. Mrs. Pleasant nodded yes to her.

"Umm, a chocolate bar and potato chips."

The teacher and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. These clues didn't help... except... the day was Wednesday. I glanced at the calendar stuck to right side of the chalk board to confirm this and corrected her.

"Sadie! Today is Wednesday! Are you sure it was a cheese sandwich?"

Her face reshaped into a weird look of embarrassed.

"Uh, oh... I always get PeanutButter and jelly on wensdees."

The word was Wednesday, but we all knew what she meant.

"Any other questions, John?" the teacher asked. I shook my head no. "Okay everyone, take out your history books and read chapter 32 about how the king of England originally supported the pilgrims. I need to go speak to the principal about Sadie's lunchbox."

My thoughts stopped in their underdeveloped tracks. It was a strange feeling I'd never felt before. Something she said in that pivotal moment hit me in the face like a giant water balloon. Overjoyed, I frantically raised my hand again.

"Yes, John!" she said with a bit of annoyance.

"I, I...I think I know where the box is! Remember that word you said...eb-bid-dense? (evidence) I have some...I found some!"

She appeared amused that my little brain was trying to help out the situation.

“I think I know where it is...can I show you?"

Her nose turned up slightly and her eyes deepened. I wasn't sure if she believed me. She, however, had nothing else to go on and agreed.

"Okay, John. Lead the way."

The entire class followed. As we walked toward the alleged place, I reviewed in my mind what led me to the conclusion. First, it was the comic book hanging out his back pocket. Second, he was the only one left in the building during the fire drill. Third, there was a spot of smeared jelly on the glass tank. But the kicker was when Mrs. Pleasant said the word, King. It brought everything to a moment of realization and my thoughts went straight to Mr. Kingsley. I stopped the mini lynch mob in front of the janitor's closet.

"I bet you it's in there, but I'm afraid to open it. You open it, teacher."

She quickly stepped forward while stammering,

"Why would the lunchbox be in the janitor's closet?"

She slowly turned the knob while all the kids held onto each other as if the boogeyman was on the other side of the door. We were in a full state of nail-biting suspense. The door squeaked open to reveal Mr. Kingsley sitting on a stool. He stopped in mid-bite of the chocolate bar as dozens of confused eyes stared at him... I knew it!

The remainder of the candy bar slipped out his hand and into a mop bucket; the splash could be heard throughout the school. Sadie ran into the messy closet and grabbed the opened lunchbox left beside the mop bucket. She tightly embraced it then began twirling in circles like a fairytale's dream come true. The only thing missing was an uplifting overture. Mrs. Pleasant let him have it.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing a little girl's lunchbox. Wait until Mr. Carmichael hears about this!"

She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the principal's office! Us kids were told to go back to the classroom.

*

Before the school day was over, the principal and a police officer pulled me out of class. Apparently, Mr. Kinglsey was a bit of a kleptomaniac. They found loads of missing items hidden in the closet, including a pair of batman wristbands that landed me in hot water with my parents for losing. Mr. Kingsley was obsessed with anything associated with superheroes. Well, to his ironic dismay, the justice league got their man that day. The policeman took a brief incident report and thanked me for my part in solving the case.

"Little John Grisham, you're going to make a fine detective when you grow up." the principal said as he walked me back to class. Funny, I always wanted to be a lawyer and followed that passion right up until I passed the bar examine in the early eighties. Somehow that incident in fifth grade played a big part in who I would become later in life... thanks to Mr. Kingsley’s obsession.

A/N: The preceding story is a work of pure fiction and in no way assumes actual facts about the MC's life. Thank you for stopping by!