The sound of laughter echoed through the 6th-grade classroom as the kids piled back in after an all-too-short lunch break.
Tom tiptoed through the aisles of school desks to his favourite spot in the room.
He liked it when his pens and notebooks were all in their place on the desk. As he sat down on his favourite blue school chair, he felt like it was made just for him.
The chair squeaked as he shuffled his weight, and one of the legs was missing a rubber stop at the end, giving the chair a slight rocking motion. But Tom felt at home in his chair and at his desk.
“Move over, Tom. I’m sitting here,” announced Jimbo, standing over Tom with a bag drooping loosely off his right shoulder.
“This is where I always sit!” replied Tom, his hand holding onto the table.
“Yeah, but not today. This is my chair now,” said Jimbo, as he dropped his bag onto the desk and shuffled himself onto the side of the chair, squeezing in next to Tom.
Jimbo was bigger than Tom. A little nudge of his hip pushed Tom to the very edge of the seat.
“Come on, man! Your chair is over there!” protested Tom, with one hand left holding onto the corner of the table.
“I’ll sit there tomorrow, but today I want to sit here,” grunted Jimbo, giving Tom one last bump.
Tom fell off the chair, bracing his fall with both hands on the ground.
He felt disoriented as he sat down on the floor, looking up as Jimbo struggled to balance on the wobbly chair.
Mrs. Stevens walked through the door with a stack of papers in her hands.
“Welcome back, kids!” said Mrs. Stevens as she walked to the front of the class.
As she moved down the aisle, Mrs. Stevens spotted Tom rising to his feet at the side of the class.
“Tom, is everything OK? Why haven’t you taken your seat?” she asked, noticing Jimbo slumping next to Tom.
“Um, I was sitting here, but Jimbo wanted the chair,” replied Tom, looking to the floor as he spoke.
Mrs. Stevens looked at the two boys and paused for a moment.
“Tom, which of these desks is yours?” asked Mrs. Stevens, looking straight at Tom.
“This one,” replied Tom, pointing to the desk with his pens still lined up in front of Jimbo.
“And which of these chairs is your chair, Tom?” followed Mrs. Stevens.
“This one, Mrs. Stevens,” said Tom, pointing to the wobbly blue school chair that Jimbo was perched on.
Mrs. Stevens paused and stepped forward towards Tom.
“If this is your desk and this is your chair, the next thing I’d like you to calmly do is tell Jimbo that this is your space and that his desk is just over there.
Tom felt his throat tighten.
He looked at Jimbo and then back at Mrs. Stevens, before taking a big deep breath.
“Jimbo, this is my chair and my desk. This is where I sit. Your desk is just over there. Please move to your own chair,” uttered Tom, looking at Jimbo as steadily as he could.
Jimbo’s face went red as the whole class was silent.
He looked at Tom, who was standing a little taller than he remembered, then looked to Mrs. Stevens.
Mrs. Stevens gently nodded toward Jimbo’s actual desk with a calm but stern look on her face.
Jimbo stood up and grabbed his bag.
“Fine, you can have your chair. It wobbles too much, anyway,” replied Jimbo, as he shuffled over to his usual desk.
Tom sat back down on his wobbly blue chair.
It felt even more comfortable than he remembered.
He looked up at the front of the class, and Mrs. Stevens gave a tiny smile back at Tom.