“That puzzle belongs to me now, Kenny,” Mrs. Symons said, mildly annoyed. “Please put it on my desk.”
Kenny walked to the front of the classroom and placed the cylindrical Rubik’s Cube-style puzzle on her desk.
“You’ll have to bring me a note from your parents to get it back. It will remain here on my desk until then. Now please take your seat.”
As he shuffled back to his desk, Kenny replayed the last few minutes over in his head: Mrs. Symons had been writing on the blackboard while she asked everybody to take out a piece of paper and a pencil for a pop quiz. Kenny reached into his desk for a pencil. During his search he moved the puzzle out of the way, momentarily setting it on top of his desk. Before putting the puzzle back, Kenny spun it on the desk’s beige, icy-smooth Formica surface. At that exact moment, Mrs. Symons turned around from the blackboard and confiscated the puzzle.
What Mrs. Symons couldn’t have known was that the puzzle didn’t belong to Kenny. The puzzle belonged to Kenny’s sister.
His dilemma was further complicated by the shameful fact that Kenny had taken the puzzle without his sister’s permission. At some point that evening, she was bound to notice the absence of her prized puzzle. More importantly, Kenny couldn’t stop thinking about what harm might come to the puzzle while it was still at school and out of his sight. Although he knew it was wrong to take it without permission, he had assumed that the puzzle would be safely within his control the entire time. Now, out of his hands, he wondered what would happen if Mrs. Symons accidentally broke it? What if she lost track of it? What if it just disappeared into thin air?
Kenny and his friends had been comparing their combination puzzles—each one a different variation on the cube-puzzle theme: a pyramid, a link, a sphere, and so on— all week during recess. None of his friends had the cylinder puzzle, so even though it wasn’t his to share, Kenny was determined to bring it to school to impress his classmates.
Generally speaking, Kenny was not a rule breaker. Kenny was a worrier, a trait that made him even less inclined to break rules while at school. The prospect of forgetting homework, arriving late, or any other detention-qualifying source of mischief constantly filled Kenny with existential dread to the point of sleepless nights and migraine headaches. And now, with the double whammy of being caught red-handed and forced to surrender the ill-gotten puzzle to the teacher, he was panic-stricken.
He absolutely had to have the puzzle back home that evening. The intense pressure Kenny felt was less about his parents’ negative reaction to the note request and more about ensuring that the puzzle was safely back in the hands of its rightful owner.
“Just grab it from her desk on your way out the door at the end of the day,” Kenny told himself.
When the final bell rang, Kenny nervously blended in with the swarm of his peers headed for the classroom door. Without breaking stride, he nonchalantly foisted the puzzle from his teacher’s desk and into his coat pocket in a singular motion so smooth it completely hid his rampant anxiety. Even the most seasoned pickpockets would have been envious.
Kenny’s heart was still pounding as he walked down the hallway and exited the school. His worry began transitioning to relief as he approached the bus and—
—Kenny suddenly found himself shrouded in near-total darkness.
A faint light was visible on the horizon.
“Where am I?” He muttered. Objects were scattered around him, but it was too dark to make out what they were. He cautiously walked toward the dim light.
Kenny felt a strange pressure as he was unexpectedly whisked out of the shadowy void.
The bright light stung Kenny’s eyes. He closed them momentarily and, while squinting, tried to get his bearings. He was on the surface of a vast, nondescript plain that seemed to go on indefinitely in all directions.
“What is happening right now?” Kenny asked himself, trembling.
The deafening sounds he heard next shook Kenny from head to toe, knocking him down.
“That action figure belongs to me now, V’rkxxza,” Mrs. Bzazz said, mildly annoyed. “Please put it on my desk.”
V’rkxxza walked to the front of the classroom and put the humanoid action figure on her desk.
“You’ll have to bring me a note from your parents to get it back. It will remain here on my desk until then. Now please take your seat.”
What Mrs. Bzazz couldn’t have known was that the action figure didn’t belong to V’rkxxza. The action figure belonged to V’rkxxza’s sister . . .
