Rover

Rhys is my first student on Wednesdays. This semester, he has decided to hide from me when I arrive at 3:15. The room we have lessons in doubles as a teacher lounge, so I have found him behind the couch, behind and underneath the piano, beside the heart-shaped candelabra, under extra desks, and inside the doghouse that belongs to the stuffed fourth grade mascot.

This week, I decided to show up early to thwart his plans of invisibility. I parked on the other side of the building, entered through the exit, and clung to the wall of the stairwell on my way upstairs. And there he was, standing in the middle of the stairs talking to his friend. His eyes were wide, and he froze mid-sentence. The look of sheer terror on his face made me laugh out loud. His friend stood confused as Rhys bolted upstairs to the lounge. I was seconds behind him, racing him to the door.

When I entered, I found Rhys scrambling to reach the back of the doghouse. His rear end was sticking out of the entrance beneath "ROVER" in big red letters.

Next week, I'm scaling the lower school building.