J.R., the outspoken boy, slouches at his desk, his eyes darting between the clock and the substitute teacher, Miss Rogers, who stands uncertain at the front. The air is thick with hope for an early release. I, the self-appointed class president, sit tall, eager to seize the moment. "What time do we finish school?" she asks, her voice tentative. "03:00!" shouts J.R., igniting a flurry of whispers. I hush the class, taking charge, and echo the answer with added urgency. "Mam, we finish at 03:00. We're so little, we get trampled by the bigger kids if we don't leave early!"

Bags slung over shoulders, we march out triumphantly, the school eerily quiet. The playground, usually alive with laughter, is silent except for the rustling leaves and distant rumble of buses idling. I glance back, feeling a thrill of accomplishment mixed with a twinge of unease. As we board our buses, the sense of victory is palpable—today, we have outwitted the system.

J.R.[/@ch_1] and me to follow.] The corridor feels longer than ever, fluorescent lights casting cold shadows. Whispers ripple through the class: Classmates taunt, "Oww, you’re in trouble!" I steady myself, heart pounding, determined to face whatever lies ahead. We walk in silence toward the principal's domain.

Principal (Base Commander) sits imposingly behind his desk, medals gleaming on his chest, his stern gaze fixed upon us. The window blinds are drawn, casting the room in dusky gray. The silence is unnerving as he leans forward, voice booming. "You two put your classmates in danger. How do you plead—guilty or not guilty for releasing the class early?" "Guilty," admits J.R. quickly, and is dismissed. Unsure, I stand my ground. "I am whichever one means it was my fault. But if anyone is guilty, it’s Miss Rogers—she let us go! I’m only a first grader, sir. If anything happened, parents wouldn’t blame me—they’d blame you and Miss Rogers. So sir, are you guilty or not guilty?"

Fifteen minutes of solitude sharpen my thoughts. I mumble to myself, rehearsing how I’ll explain this to my parents, wondering why Miss Rogers isn’t here. My gaze lingers on the imposing medals and the seemingly impenetrable cabinets, imagining my school records tucked away inside. The principal’s anger simmers, but I feel a strange pride in my candid defense.

I recount every detail—the discipline, the tension, the strange justice of "guilty or not guilty." Miss Rogers never returns as our substitute, her fate a mystery that fuels playground legends. The bond among us first graders grows stronger, united by our shared adventure. Though I lose the class president race, I’ve left my mark. The dream of shorter school days lingers, a legacy born from our bold act. Whether guilty or not guilty, we claim our victory—a day when the little ones got away early, rewriting the rules, if only for an afternoon.