You can tell I am excited for it glows from my face like sunbeams. This is the day I count down to all year. I cannot keep still for my excitement is coursing through my body. I glance around my room. My eyes linger across my pink and purple walls. My gaze sweeps over my wooden desk, cluttered with knickknacks that I never touch but cannot bear to give away. Finally my eyes dart to my pajamas, where they rest satisfactorily upon my fairy bed covers. I cannot believe this day has finally arrived. I slip my pajamas on and start for school. During the nighttime I treasure the company of my bed, the warmth of my sheets, and the total lack of obligation. On Pajama Day I can bring part of that sanctuary with me. Though, more excitement than just wearing my pajamas to school will follow on this glorious day in 3rd grade.

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Why won’t the clock move? I am impatiently squirming in my seat. I have 5 more minutes till recess and these 5 minutes are by far the worst in my day. Not to mention that I am getting hungry. My eyes follow the second hand of the clock as it goes round and round behind the clear, reflective glass. If I was a clock I would get very dizzy and tired from spinning my arm around all the time, I think.
I start writing down my schedule. On the lined paper where my neat notes had long ago been replaced by countless doodles, I begin to write each period down along with my homework. All I am doing is copying down the schedule on the board, but it is something to put my mind on while I wait for recess. I once again glance up at the clock. Just take it one minute at a time, I tell myself. On my paper, next to my neatly copied schedule, I scribble down 5 tallies and spend my time erasing each one as every minute passes. I try to count along with the pounding tick coming from the clocks glassy eye. To my frustration, I keep losing track of the steady beat. My teacher is to blame for these interruptions. She keeps droning on and on and on about something. I quickly jump back to life with a jerk, realizing I am not paying attention. What is my teacher talking about again? DING. Never mind, it does not matter now. It is finally recess! Recess is the only period in the day, other than lunch, where I am free from the stress of school. And today I have my pajamas on, which will make it even better.
I hurriedly stuff my papers into my ripping folder and dash out of my classrooms side door. I soon find myself panting from the sudden burst of speed, so I slow down to a jog. I make my way down the concrete side walk by the colorful new playground that replaced our old wooden one last year.
I can see the metal basket of balls and jump ropes a little way up. I am determined to get there first because there are only a few basketballs available. I like to spend my recess shooting hoops on the blacktop. I find it fun and entertaining, even though I am not that good at it. I arrive at the metal basket just in time to grab the second to last basketball. I snatch it up before anyone else can and hurry over to the basketball hoops.

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Swish, Bang, Catch, Swish, Bang, Catch. The rhythm is nothing but hypnotizing. I once again throw the basketball into the net with a swish, listen to the bang as it falls to the ground, and catch the orange ball in my hands. I repeat the routine a couple more times before the basketball lands on the rim and bounces off in the opposite direction. I sigh and turn around to see a pair of electric blue eyes. The girl standing in front of me looks about my age except for the fact that she is much shorter. I do not recognize her from anywhere, though. She has beautiful brown sun- streaked hair and a winning smile. In her small hands she holds the very basketball that had only moments ago bounced astray from the hoop.
Holding the ball out to me she whispers, “I caught your ball for you, here.”
“Thank you. Want to play with me?” I question.
“Yeah I would,” she replies with great joy, flashing that smile.
“What grade are you in?” I inquire while handing her back the basketball.
“Second,” she answers.
Only one grade younger than me, I think to myself. We continue to play for quite some time. I am missing the majority of the shots because this conversation with this girl, who I learned is named Michele, is proving to be very interesting. It is not so much the conversation as the person, for Michele is a very intriguing girl and we are getting along really well. Eventually I suggest going over to the balance beam, for the lack of interest in the basketball game is growing ever stronger. Michele quickly agrees in the change of setting. It seems that we agree on everything.
I run across the blacktop and onto the playground. I quickly hop up onto the balance beam and start walking across it. Michele pushes herself off of the woodchip and follows my lead. We carry on with this conversation as if no time has elapsed. I doubt we will ever run out of things to talk about.
The fun I am having with Michele is so entrancing that I find myself completely unaware of the outside world. You always have to return to the real world though, for just like I had when I was daydreaming in class this morning, I jerk back into reality. I am only in reality for a second though, but it is long enough for me to realize that something is wrong.
Michele notices it to for she says, “Why is so quiet.”
We both gaze across the playground in utter astonishment. The playground is completely empty. How could we not have heard the loud bell calling us inside? Is this conversation really that interesting? Amazement quickly changes to fear. I realize I am going to get in so much trouble when I return to the classroom. I wonder how much class I have missed. I see the same fear I am feeling in Michele’s eyes.
“I think we have to go know. See you tomorrow,” she spurts out in one breath. Without needing to say another word, we dash our separate ways.
I am gasping for breath as I reach the outside of my classroom door. I hesitate at the handle. I am never in trouble and I do not ever want to get in trouble. I do not want my teacher to yell at me because I was not paying as much attention as I should have during recess. I have gotten in a little bit of trouble for daydreaming in class before. If she told me off then, I am surely to get in heaps of trouble now.
With as much bravery as I can muster, I open the door to see relief, not anger cross my teacher’s face as she spots me. As I tug at my pajamas in nervousness, I smile to myself at the thought that maybe my pajamas jinxed me into being so out of it during recess that I could not even hear even the loud recess bell that usually leads me to covering my ears.
“Lucia, you do not know how worried I was. Where were you? It has been ages,” she exclaims.
“Sorry, I did not hear the recess bell,” I apologize.
My teacher looks doubtful that I could be capable of not hearing the bell, but she looks ready to except my excuse anyway. “Sit down, Lucia. We are at math now.”
I hear some snickering as I take my seat. Oh, I have never been so embarrassed in my life! Now that I have experienced it to such great a scale, I will never daydream in class again, well maybe…