The second grade girl came up to me trying to get my attention followed closely by one of my boys whom I liked to call my “Sour Patch” kid based on his qualities of sweet lovingness mixed with extreme mischief. My Spidey senses were on high alert based on something in her manner, and his appearance on her coattails.
“Can I help you?” I asked. She mumbled something, and appeared upset. I tried several times to understand what she was telling me, finally deciphering that for some unknown reason she was asking to go and wash her arms. It didn’t help that S.P. Kid kept trying to interrupt and disrupt the process.
“It’s that S.P. wrote something on my arms!” she asserted.
“I did not!” S.P. vehemently insisted.
The arms in question were held out for inspection. I was genuinely puzzled. The more I insisted that there was absolutely nothing there, and that she was fine, the more she insisted that she had to wash them. S.P. flocked and surged in an obstructive manner. Finally we started making some progress.
“I wanted him to write my name on my arm and he wrote something else with his invisible ink pen!” she said.
“No I didn’t!!” S.P. was very insistent.
Comprehension dawned. “Go and get that invisible pen right now!” I ordered S.P. He reluctantly went to fetch his newest treasure bought at the school book fair earlier. And there it was, misspelled of course, his latest entry in his chronicles of naughtiness proudly reflecting in the blue light from his invisible ink pen: