Medieval House Short Story

Most times, I’m a sweet and innocent girl who never gets in trouble, but for once, my day turned upside down. In seventh grade, I was doing a fun medieval times house activity. A house activity is when all the classes in a house join together to do something, it’s like an inside field trip. I was in 7 Gold at the time, so we were able to open up the walls in between the classrooms. My teachers were Mrs. Pfeifer, Mr. Cunningham, and Mrs. Caucutt. Mr. Cunningham is definitely my favorite. There was also Ms. Peterson, but she didn’t do anything important or helpful. In the house activity, we were put in groups and we had to act like we were a part of the medieval age by building trebuchets and castles. We had to bring cardboard supplies for the

Pfeifer. Neither of us reply because we have no idea what to say. Mrs. Pfeifer then walks over to Mr. Cunningham and starts whispering to him and pointing at our bin. I was biting my nails and thinking, I never get in trouble! Am I gonna get a bip? Mr. Cunningham looked me in the eyes with a very concerned look. He then walks into the hall and calls the boy that drew on the bin into the hall. The thoughts going through my mind were, how do I get it off? What do you use to get sharpie off things? Then, I remember. In the past, I had used hand sanitizer to remove sharpie from walls. It’s gotta work! I didn’t have any hand sanitizer though. So, I sprint to everybody in the room and ask for some. The last person I ask is one of my friends, she always has everything one could ever need. She looks at me, and I’m all red, shivering, and pacing at the same time. Afterwards, she unzips her pencil case and pulls out the holy hand sanitizer. I snatch it right out of her hand quicker than the speed of light, I grab a lot of paper towel, and I run back to the bin. I pour the hand sanitizer all over the paper towel, not caring about how much I waste. Then, I make the final move, washing the sharpie off. I knew this was the only thing that could work. I start to rub it on the bin and… it worked! My heart finally returns to its normal pace. Immediately after I had washed the sharpie off, Mr. Cunningham looks at me and does a “come here” hand signal. My heart starts to race again, because now I’m scared. I grabbed the bin because I knew what he’s calling me for, and I enter the hallway and he starts to talk about how bad it was to write on the bin. I was on the verge of crying every word he says. He tells me I can leave, but before I left, I showed him that I cleaned the bin. He says, “Wow! Good job. It’s very nice of you to clean it off for