The little bag of Popchips was a brilliant blue, shiny and wonderful; she reached out with a finger, pulling at the edge.
“Looking at our agendas…” The principal was young, wide eyed. “You’ll see we have a lot to get through. A lot.”
She touched the bag, turning it in closer; she loved Popchips, how they were light and baked.
“This is our first draft of the policy document.” The principal spoke in staccato, her words bulging with excitement. “Our team has put a lot into getting this together. A lot. And now we need your feedback.”
She read the top line and then turned the page, flicking the edge of the little bag. She scanned the page; it looked fine. She reached for the little bag crinkled, but it crinkled. She snapped her hand back.
Her pair-share buddy was checking his messages.”What do you think?”
“It looks fine.”
He slid the policy document under his phone.
She pulled at the edges of the little bag; it wouldn’t open.
“Are we supposed to write on it?”
“I don’t know.”
She tried again; it crinkled and wouldn’t give.
“Can we all turn to the second page?” The principal asked.
They all did. They had to find a phrase. And they talked about that. She touched the bag again, her fingers going out and back. She kept doing that; she couldn’t stop.
“We could just delete it,” a small voice suggested from the back.
“We could,” the principal replied slowly.
“Are we going to apply the policy document this year?” Another asked.
“That’s a very good question.” The principal was standing right behind her, the edge of her pant suit descending in a long clean line. “The answer is we just don’t know.”
She tried the bag again, pulling the edges out hard, but it wouldn’t give.
“Are we going to finish the agenda?” The first one asked, almost sounding sincere.
“That’s why we wrote it out for you,” the principal replied. “To see if we could get to the end.”
She pushed the bag away, deflated, and her pair-share buddy snapped it open.
He went back to his messages.