It was a warm sunny morning at Alcott Montessori. Birds chirped, children played, and four year old Phoebe was plotting the crime of the century.
When I was in preschool, like most toddlers do, I had an unsatisfiable hunger for evil and all things treacherous. I was a wicked demon, who would stop at nothing to get my way, like most toddlers do, and succeed in world domination.
I also had an evil mastermind of a best friend. Dylan was my partner in crime, my main amigo, the clownfish to my anemone. After all, we couldn’t get away with heinous crimes by ourselves.
But out of sneaking iPad time at her house, and stealing those little plastic bears from the play carpet, the biggest heist we ever attempted was the treacherous ascent up to the summit of the mountain in our very own school playground.
Back in the day (-seven years ago-) my preschool class had a problem. At recess, us toddlers would waddle up the hill in our playground into a woodsy area at its peak. There, there were trees to climb, rocks to trip on, and ditches to fall into.
Every day it was a bloody massacre.
Bleeding noses, skinned elbows and knees, and that feeling when you hit your shin too hard. It was brutal. None-the-less, we continued playing. We were loyal to this hill and had no current plans to play anywhere else.
That continued for about a day or two, until we were banned from climbing the hill. Oh, it was awful. Recess had never been more dull- for me at least. I think most of the kids in our grade forgot all about the hill the next day. (I like to think I was an intelligent preschooler. Emphasis on the word think.)
But me and Dylan hadn’t. We were long from forgetting. (Okay, I had, but Dylan was more the brains or the operation.)
To keep students from breaking the rule, any kid who played at recess like an obedient goody-two-shoes (if you ask me) and didn’t climb the hill would receive a Good Job! star sticker- the highest honor any toddler could receive. Good Job! stickers were like gold. Anyone who had one was as good as royalty.
While the kids who broke the law, and chose to journey up the mountain, would be THROWN INTO THE DUNGEON, TORTURED IN EVERY WAKING MOMENT, FORCED TO FEED ON NOTHING BUT COCKROACHES AND THE SOULS OF THE FORGOTTEN IN THE ETERNAL VOID UNTIL THE TEACHERS DEEMED THEIR SENTENCE OVER. Okay, that was a lie- but to a toddler, not receiving a sticker was the equivalent.
From then on, most kids stayed ground level at recess. Every now and then, someone would sneak up onto the hill and get caught. Once all the trouble makers in the class had learned their lesson, the only two people left who dared climb the hill were me and Dylan.
And we had decided that we could have our cake and eat it too. (Why we cared- I honestly have no idea, but it’s best not to question the ways of those with highly underdeveloped brains.) Our totally in-depth conversation went something like this-
Dylan approached me confidently.
Dylan: “hi”
Me: “what”
Dylan: “see that hill?”
Me: “which one?”
Dylan: *pointing to hill* “That one” I nodded thoughtfully.
Me: “okay”
Dylan: “wanna go up it?”
Me: “why”
Dylan: “because we’re not allowed to”
I needed to think about my answer. What about the stickers? What about the children and the millions of families that depended on this one choice. Eventually I came to a well thought out conclusion.
Me: “cool”
Here was the plan: Dylan and I needed to hijack one of those purple plastic pedal cars that you pedal, pedal the purple plastic pedal car behind a bush, then pedal the already pedaling plastic purple pedal car up the hill. (That’s a tongue-twister.) And pedaling those was difficult. We also needed to be able to play up on the hill without receiving any visible injuries, so as not to risk getting found out. That was the physical part of the challenge; the mental part was the waiting.
The teachers wouldn’t tell you if they saw you on the hill. You had to wait three whole hours until the end of the day when the good kids would be rewarded their stickers. It was only then when you would find out whether you had succeeded or not. You would barely be able to close your eyes at nap time, wondering what your fate would be…
We found a purple plastic pedal car (I will never stop saying that) and were finding a way to operate it with two drivers, when a teacher walked over, ready to ruin our childhoods with a smile. “Only one person in a car at a time, girls.”
This was going to be even harder than we thought.
We had ditched the previously pedaling purple plastic pedal car (I’ll stop) and were walking up the hill. Harsh unforgiving winds stung our chubby faces, as we trudged up the perilous mountain slope. My skechers sunk into the mud, soaking my Curious George socks down to every last strand of colorful fabric.
We climbed on for what seemed to be hours (about 30 seconds) until the summit was in our sights.
Sunshine reflected on the horizon. Step.
Just a little farther. Step
All I could think about was that good job! sticker. Step.
I only had a few feet to go when my foot, mid walk, collided with a tree root. I fell to the ground with a thud, bruising my shin on the root.
The pain was unbearable. I would’ve screamed in agony, but I knew that would give us away. Tears filled my eyes and my vision blurred. I could barely see Dylan crouch beside me.
“I see a light…” I whispered.
“No!” Dylan took my hand. “You can’t leave me! Not now!”
“It’s too late.”
“Get up!”
“Leave me here…”
“We can make it!” There was a deafening silence.
“I don’t think I can walk anymore, Dylan.”
“No!”
“Wait, never mind. It doesn’t hurt anymore,”
“Cool.”
Dylan took my other hand, and pulled me to my feet. We trudged onward, only a few steps from the top…
Dylan and I sat on the carpet next to each other, anxious for the sticker ceremony after story time. Ms. Nakum, our teacher, closed the touching picture book, Bear is Sick and placed it on the bookshelf. She stood, taking out her sticker sheet. She walked with authority, like a queen deciding the fate of the mere peasants that groveled before her.
“One, two, three, eyes on me!” She called the attention of the class with the sacred teacher battle cry.
“One, two, eyes on you,” the class chorused in response.
“Okay now, whoever followed the rules at recess is going to get a star sticker. These are for the star students who do what’s right,” she announced, “but, if you didn’t follow the rules, you don’t get one. Okay?”
“Okay,” the class replied.
Ms. Nakum distributed the stickers column by column, me and Dylan at the very end of the order. Kyle got a sticker. Annabelle got a sticker. Thomas got a sticker. Ms. Nakum neared me and Dylan.
Avery got a sticker. Julia got a sticker. Jack got a sticker. My tiny heart pounded in my chest. I felt my breathing quicken. I grabbed Dylan’s arm.
Now for the moment of truth. Ms. Nakum came to us with the sticker sheet and…
Walked right by us.
I looked at Dylan. All we had done, all we had gone through, the plastic purple pedal car we had sacrificed (those were hard to get your hands on), the mild bruise on my shin – it was all for nothing. I felt devastated.
But then I felt something else. Betrayal.
This was all Dylan’s idea in the first place. It was because of her I didn’t get my sticker. This could not be forgiven…
Until the next day when I forgot all about the hill and me and Dylan did some other stupid thing. But I still want that sticker.
T H E E N D