Glue in my hair

It was third grade English. We were reading Little House on the Prarie by Laura Ingles Wilder when the crime was committed. Specifically the day we were creating a collage of one chapter of the book in class.

My team had been tasked with depicting the moment when Pa confuses a tree stump for a Grizzly Bear. Pa runs towards the stump with an ax in his hand, trying to protect his family. I was tasked with drawing Pa. I executed this beautifully. I was  a masterpiece. And then, one member of my team, my arch nemesis, John drew a tuft of grass under Pa’s arm. Ruining my masterpiece. I was mad. I was passive aggressive. I was mean to John.

The other member of my team was my good friend Scott. He laughed. I got mad at him. But I thought it ended there. Little did I know that Scott, the ultimate prankster sought revenge. I thought we were friends. This was a weakness. Scott committed the ultimate crime. The perfect prank on an unknowing victim.

At the end of class, Scott, the perpetrator took a chunk of a purple gluestick and put it in my hair. To this day, I don’t know how he did it. But later that day, I felt something funny in my hair. My brush got stuck in my hair. Scott burst out laughing. I questioned him: What is so funny. He responded. Full confession: Nothing. It’s just that I put glue in your hair. The perfect prank. Confessed in full. Well played my friend. Well played.

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