Twenty-two

Noah and I crept through the early-morning gray of the hallway, comic book page, winter coat, and Scotch tape at the ready.

When we reached the hall outside the lunchroom, I whipped out the page, Noah wrangled his coat in the air for cover, and I taped the page to the wall.

 

When the lunch bell rang, I darted from math class, made my way toward the lunchroom, and stretched to get a better view of the wall.

Once again, it was empty.

But this time, I didn’t trudge into the lunchroom, cursing the universe.

This time I did a little fist pump.