As my finger prodded John’s side, I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye our teacher, stalking towards us, her face taut with rage.

Gym was one of our favorite classes. Sure, the teacher may have been a grumpy old prick, but after hours of being cooped up in a room we were wild stallions aching to run free. Our bodies cramped and our minds restless, we cheered as a class when told it was time to put out books away and line up. As we walked to the door we heard our teacher remind us to line up "single file," and we rolled our eyes a bit. Who did she think we were, second graders? We moseyed on towards the gymnasium, talking and joking with each other on the way. I was walking in front of my friend John, who seemed as anxious as I did to get to class. Today was dodgeball day, the one thing we looked forward to through all the tedious studies.
We rounded a corner and stopped abruptly. What was going on? We usually walked right in and sat down on the “T” line (which was just the gym’s half court with a T taped on).
"We've come a little early, kids, so we're going to have to wait a couple of minutes while the other class finishes," called our teacher from the front.
Time slowed to a  crawl. After about a minute, John poked me with his finger. I looked at him, frowning slightly. I wasn't about to let this go unpunished. Besides, it took my mind off the annui. Our poking match quickly escalated, and soon we were prodding each other furiously. Suddenly, I saw John freeze. I whipped around  and looked up into the malicious eyes of our teacher, leering at us with the cold, disdainful look of a lion that has just caught its prey.
"Horseplay is not tolerated in this school," she hissed venomously. "I don't want to see this again".
She returned to the front of the line. Of course, the threat of punishment was lost on those as young and impatient as ourselves, and it had barely been two minutes before a heavy cloud of boredom settled onto us like a morning fog. I sighed, looking at the other side of the hallway. There wasn't much. I saw the restrooms, and some sign about a PTA thrift shop, whatever that was. Bored, I nudged John slightly. He jabbed me back, harder. We had started to prod at each other again, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. I turn around to gaze into the full fledged wrath of my teacher. I backed up against the wall, and I saw John do the same.
"Didn't I already tell you not to roughhouse!?," she spat viciously.Why couldn’t she just say "poke" or "play around" like everybody else? And then she says something far, far worse. "Go to the principal's office, both of you". She uttered the words like a death sentence, and to us, it might as well have been. We had never been to the principal before. We weren't those kind of kids. As she said this, we saw the fifth graders stumble out of the gym, sweaty and out of breath.
Resigned to our fate, we shuffled down the hallway, convicts on our way to the guillotine. We were too stunned to talk. What would happen? Would we get suspended? Expelled? We had never even really seen our principal Ms. Manley before, except once or twice while she was walking down the halls or in the cafeteria. We sat down on some plush chairs, but the state of our buttocks was the least of our concerns. The lady behind the desk told us to go to the back room, not even glancing up from her computer screen. We walked toward the room. I felt like I had a brick in my throat, and John looked like he was about to break down in sobs. As we sat down, we saw Ms. Manley.
"Well, why are you two here?" She asked. "Did you get in trouble?" I nodded my head. I couldn't have said anything if I had wanted to. "What did you do?" John glanced up at her. "We-we poked each-each other," he said, and a little tear fell down his cheek.
Ms. Manley sighed. "Well, just don't do it again, okay?" She sounded a little exasperated.
"Ok-okay" said John. I still couldn’t speak. "You can go to your class now," she told us. We clambered out of our chairs, eager to forget this miserable experience as soon as we possibly could. John and I haven't poked each other since.