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“What are you doing, Jess? Hurry up!” groans Meg Shaw, as her little neighbor crouches in the long grass to one side of the path, patiently coaxing a curious garter snake closer.
With the return of warm weather Jess gets easily distracted, and there’s no guarantee she’ll end up at school before lunchtime if left to her own devices. So Mama is making her walk with Carson and her big sister Meg from the next farm over.
Carson, also in first grade, is shy, a little in awe of her madcap classmate. Meg has pristine dresses and pin curls, and right now is a particular burr in Jess’ boot.
“None of your business,” she murmurs, softly so as not to startle the tiny snake. Just as his smooth scales brush her fingertips, she scoops him up and gently deposits him in her pocket.
As they draw nearer to the schoolhouse, Jess drops far enough behind to have another peek. Beady-eyed and not much wider than a soda straw, he’s the same bright green color as Peter Pan’s jaunty outfit on the nickelodeon poster in town.
“Hi, Peter,” she singsongs. Trusting, he slithers up her hand to coil around her wrist.
At the school steps, she breaks proudly into the circle of other girls where Greta holds court. “Look at my new bracelet,” she says, extending her arm like a fashion-plate lady. Most of the group scream theatrically, and Miss Warner comes out with her hands on her hips.
“Jess McCready, put that down!” But just as quickly, their teacher is distracted by some older boys roughhousing and tossing a ball too close to the schoolhouse windows, and the mischief-maker is able to sneak her new pet inside all the way to her shared double desk.
Opening the lid and putting him in, she props up her slate as a makeshift barrier between her side and Greta’s. He gazes up at her, settling into the cool dark of the desk. “Now, you stay right there,” she orders, shaking her finger, before lowering the lid just as everyone takes their seats.
Just before starting the pledge of allegiance, Miss Warner looks intently in her direction. “Jess, did you leave that snake where he belongs?”
Her heart thumps, but she’s not ready to give up such an interesting pet after barely finding him. “Yes, ma’am,” she squeaks, the fib awkward in her mouth.
Reading and spelling proceed apace, and she finds she’s able to focus better than usual. A snake in one’s desk will do wonders for concentration. She wishes she could check on him, but her seatmate already seems suspicious of her flushed cheeks and fidgetier-than-usual demeanor.
By the time they have to pull out their materials for arithmetic, Jess’s skin goosebumps at finding no sign of a garter snake on her side of the desk.
Peter’s location becomes clear when he scoots out energetically toward the sunlight, and lands right in Greta’s daisy-printed lap, which happens to be in the way.
She jumps up and screams, and when they see the flash of green scales, most of the surrounding row does too. Poor Peter slithers away with all his might across the schoolroom floor, till Jess intercepts him and hushes him soothingly.
Greta wails in the arms of a reproachful Meg, where she’s found solace. “I’m not going to sit with her any more, she shouldn’t be allowed to have pockets!”
“Settle down, everyone.” Miss Warner shoots Jess an unimpressed look. She sends the overexcited first graders – and the rest of the class – out to recess, and searches inside the double desk for any further hidden critters.
“I didn’t put him on Greta’s side,” pleads Jess. “I told him to stay on my side.”
“That’s why I don’t teach snakes,” says her teacher gently. “They’re not very good listeners.” She struggles to suppress a grin as she looks across at the indignant little girl in blue overalls, Peter Pan now coiled meekly in her palm. “I know he didn’t mean to scare anyone, but you’re going to have to take his spanking for him.”
“That’s not fair!” One of Jess’ hands flies behind her to protect her own bottom. “He can take it. You could just use a pencil.”
“Put him outside and then come here, Jess.”
Dejectedly, she lets her pet slither into the grass to the side of the porch. “Wait for me,” she whispers, but he just sticks out his fluttery red tongue. Hesitating, she feels her tummy flip at the prospect of going back inside.
“What’s the matter, Jess, didn’t Miss Warner like your new bracelet?” teases Ana from the playground. She can feel a thundercloud come over her face, and is just about to launch herself toward her classmate when quick footsteps approach. Their teacher scoops her calmly off her feet and carries her to her doom.
Inside, Miss Warner decides not to give her charge the option of balking further. She unsnaps Jess’ overalls herself and tugs them down, hoisting her easily up into the familiar position over her lap.
“Some snakes are dangerous,” she scolds, beginning to heat up the small bottom through its thin coverage of muslin drawers.
Jess arches her back and does her best to swim away in midair; her teacher has a hard hand, and the sting is already dreadful. “Peter Pan is nice and you said everyone can learn!”
A decided Mmm shows what her teacher thinks of that, and the sharp smacks continue till Jess’ bottom aches. She yelps when she’s tipped further forward and spanked thoroughly over her sit spots, eventually falling limp as her whimpered protests go from defiant to piteous.
Still she endures it bravely, and when the discipline stops she attempts a hasty scramble up only to be pinned by a firm hand on her back.
“No, we’re not finished, young lady.” Miss Warner’s palm tap, tap, taps over Jess’ heated seat. “You also told me a fib.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses her teacher retrieving the sturdy wooden ruler, and wriggles with renewed urgency. “But he’s mine so he did belong in my desk.” Even as she tries it, she knows it’s a flimsy excuse.
“And what would your mama think?” Jess whines and squirms against the grip on her waistband, but gives in with a huff. Her mom uses soap for fibbers, so she supposes she’s lucky to escape with just the ruler.
It cracks down over her bottom in a brief but pointed flurry of reproach, and when it paints the tops of her bare thighs a sore pink, Jess’ screeching nearly matches the pitch of her poor seatmate’s earlier.
As she tries to hide her sniffles, her teacher hugs her comfortingly tight and rubs her shoulders for a minute. She helps untangle Jess’ overalls from around her ankles and snap them back into place.
“It’s all right now, go and have a drink of water.” She gently shoos Jess toward the porch.
Jess tiptoes out, feeling shy and sore. On finding no trace of Peter Pan, though, she bursts fully into tears. “Miss Warner! He’s gone and Greta is mad at me and I won’t have any more friends.”
“Shh, shh.” Soon her teacher is beside her again with a handkerchief. No matter how relieved she might feel herself at the snake’s absence, she sits on the steps with an arm around her sobbing student, till the storm of emotion settles into shiny eyes and hitching shoulders.
Miss Warner’s voice is patient and warm. “I think a friend is waiting for you there.”
“Huh?” Jess blinks up, and glances over to a small figure on the edge of the swingset, trailing one toe in the dirt. For some reason, Carson has stayed back and is glancing over cautiously, even though the others are absorbed in a game of freeze tag at the far end of the schoolyard.
Curiosity getting the better of Jess, she wanders over after soaking in one last fortifying hug.
“Hi, Jess.” Her neighbor is holding something delicately within the protective barrier of her own handkerchief. “Um, I found something you might like.”
Peering down, Jess takes in a hatchling turtle, just about the size of a silver-dollar pancake. It must have taken her timid neighbor a good deal of courage to obtain, and an appreciative warmth floods her chest.
“Oh!” she says, hands trembling with excitement as she gently picks the creature up. “Turtles are slow, Carson, I bet he’ll stick around till after school.”
With the scant minutes they have left, they build a little enclosure of sticks in the shade near the creek. They ensure plenty of tasty leaves and flowers, and her classmate even brings her dinner pail lid to fill with cool water, so he has his own wading pool. A turtle, Jess feels, would probably be quite cooperative hidden in a desk, but her behind stings too much to contemplate it for longer than a moment.
As the bell rings and they stand up, satisfied, Carson is bold enough to issue an invitation. “You can come over for tea, but he has to stay in your pocket.”
That afternoon, Jess goes home to play with a new friend, and with Captain Hook in the turtle-sized pocket at the front of her overalls.