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The rain started sometime in the night—soft at first, just a tap-tap-tap on the tin roof—but by mornin', it was pourin'.
I woke up to the gray sky peekin' through my window, and the sound of frogs singin' even louder than usual from the swamp.

Mama was already up, fixin' breakfast, and the house smelled like bacon and eggs.
But I could hear the steady patter of rain on the porch, and I knew what that meant—no recess outside.

It was Friday, too.
I should've been excited for the weekend, but part of me still wanted one more soccer match—a real rematch—to get back at Jacob and his braggin'.
But with the rain comin' down like this, there'd be none of that.

School always felt different when it rained, especially on a Friday.
The halls seemed quieter, and the classrooms smelled like damp coats and wet shoes.
Jacob and the boys would still be gloatin', but now they wouldn't get to prove anything on the playground—and neither would we.

Jacob was already grumblin' before the bell even rang.
He came stompin' into class, drippin' rain onto the floor, his hair stickin' up in all directions like he'd been wrestlin' with the wind.

"This rain's the worst," he muttered to anyone who'd listen, throwin' his backpack down by his desk.
"We were gonna win today, too. I know it."

I rolled my eyes, shufflin' my books into place with my wrapped-up wrist still feelin' stiff.
"You ain't winnin' nothin', Jacob. We're still up two to one."

That shut him up real quick.
He opened his mouth like he was fixin' to argue but closed it again. He knew I was right.

Before he could come up with somethin' else to say, the loudspeaker crackled to life above us.

"Attention, students," Principal Taylor's voice filled the room, all serious and official-like.
"Due to an injury during recess yesterday, there will be no more rivalry games allowed during recess for the foreseeable future. That means no boys versus girls soccer matches or any other competitive games."

The class let out a mix of groans and murmurs, with a few whispered "What?" and "That's not fair!"

Jacob's face turned redder than a tomato.
"No way!" he whispered, his fists balled up on his desk. "That ain't right!"

But Abby leaned over toward me, smirkin'.
"Well... guess that means we win."

I grinned right back.

Jacob heard us, I knew he did.
He didn't say nothin' though.
He just sat there, stewin' in his seat, his arms crossed, gloatin' time over.

Once everyone settled down after the loudspeaker announcement, Mr. Johnson stepped to the front of the room, clappin' his hands together lightly to get our attention.

"Alright, class. Let's get back to our multiplication tables," he said, his voice calm and clear like always.
"I know we started with the zero facts yesterday... and some of us," his eyes shifted over to Jacob, "still need a little more practice."

I let out the smallest sigh, careful not to be loud about it.
Abby glanced at me and did the same.
We both knew the zeros—we'd known them since the first time he explained it.

Zero times anything is zero.
That was easy as pie.
Didn't matter if it was zero times two or zero times a million. It was still nothin'.

Mr. Johnson started writin' on the board again, goin' over the same problems as yesterday.

0 x 1 = __
0 x 2 = __
0 x 3 = __

I slumped down in my seat a little, twirlin' my pencil between my fingers.
I liked math most days—when it was movin' forward—but this was startin' to feel like we were just sittin' in place, spinnin' our wheels.

Abby leaned over real quiet-like and whispered, "I could do this with my eyes closed."

I nodded. "Me too. I wanna get to the ones or twos."

Mr. Johnson must've noticed the whisperin' 'cause he glanced our way, but he didn't say nothin'.
Instead, he turned back to the class and said, "Now, remember—multiplication is not the same as adding. We talked about this yesterday. Who can tell me... what is zero times four?"

Jacob shot his hand up like he was gonna redeem himself.

"Four," he said proudly.

A few kids snickered, and I couldn't help but smile a little too.

Mr. Johnson didn't laugh, though.
He just nodded like he expected it.

"Now, Jacob... let's think about it. If you have zero groups of four... how many do you have?"

Jacob's face scrunched up like he was tryin' to do the math in his head.
After a long pause, he muttered, "Zero?"

"Exactly," Mr. Johnson said, his face lightenin' up a little like Jacob had won a prize.
"It's not adding—it's groups. And if you don't have any groups, you don't have anything."

Jacob nodded slowly, like it was startin' to sink in.

But I was still sittin' there, tappin' my pencil, wishin' we'd move on to the real stuff.

The ones. The twos. Somethin' new.

After math finally wrapped up, I was more than ready to move on to somethin' else.
Mr. Johnson clapped his hands lightly again, gettin' our attention.

"Alright, class. Time for Reading. Grab your books—the ones you picked out yesterday."

I grinned, feelin' that little spark of excitement bubble up.
I reached into my desk and pulled out Matilda, the bright yellow cover feelin' smooth under my fingertips.

Mr. Johnson stood at the front of the room, his voice calm and clear like always.
"Today, I want you to read the first chapter. When you finish it—read it again.
Take your time. Pay attention to every word. See what you notice the second time that you might've missed the first."

A few kids let out small groans, and I heard Jacob mutter somethin' about "readin' the same thing twice," but I didn't care.
I was already flippin' open to page one, feelin' that little thrill that always came when startin' a new story.

I knew nothin' about Matilda, but that just made it better.
I liked the idea that every page was a surprise waitin' for me.

The room got quiet, except for the soft rustlin' of pages turnin' and the occasional cough.
I sank into my chair, lettin' the words pull me in.

I flipped to the first page of Matilda and started readin'.
Right away, it talked about how most parents think their kids are the best thing ever—like their little angels can do no wrong.
I smiled a little at that, thinkin' 'bout Mama and Papa always tellin' me they're proud. Even when I got into mischief, Papa would just shake his head, smilin', like it was all part of bein' a kid.

But then the book said some parents don't care much at all.
That made my heart sink a little.
Matilda's parents were like that.
They didn't see how special she was—they just ignored her.

Matilda was smart, though.
Like, real smart—teaching herself to read by age three.
That part made me blink.
Three?!
I was still figurin' out letters at three, and here she was readin' books all by herself.

But her parents didn't care.
Her daddy told her to watch TV instead.

That part made me kinda mad.
I couldn't imagine Papa ever sayin' somethin' like that.
He liked readin' the paper every mornin'—and he always said learnin' stuff was important.
Mama too—she'd let me sit beside her and read recipes, even if I stumbled over words sometimes.

So Matilda snuck off to the library—all by herself.
That part made me kinda nervous just readin' it.
I didn't think Mama would ever let me go somewhere alone, especially at her age.
But Matilda was brave, and the lady at the library—Mrs. Phelps—didn't stop her.
Instead, she gave her a book called Great Expectations—a big fancy one that grown-ups read.

I'd never read that, but it sounded important.
Matilda read it like it was nothin', and when she finished, she read even more books—all those old, famous ones.

That part made me kinda jealous—all those books, all that time just to read and drink hot chocolate?
That sounded perfect.

I glanced up for a second, lookin' around the room.
Most kids were still readin', but Abby caught my eye and gave a little smile, holdin' up her book—it was James and the Giant Peach.
I smiled back, then went back to Matilda.

Readin' about her made me feel lucky—I had Mama and Papa who cared about me.
But it also made me wanna be smart like her.
Maybe not readin' grown-up books at three, but still—learnin' things, figurin' stuff out.
Bein' someone who could do anything.

So when I finished that first chapter, I did what Mr. Johnson said—I read it again.
And the second time, it all felt even clearer—like I was gettin' to know Matilda better, like she was a friend.

When Mr. Johnson finally told us to close our books, I felt a little disappointed—I was gettin' into Matilda's world, and I kinda wanted to see what happened next.
But before I could dwell on it too long, the recess bell rang.

Usually, that sound meant runnin' outside, soccer games, and chasin' each other around the playground.
But today? Not with the rain pourin' down like it was tryin' to flood the whole town.

Instead, we were stuck inside—indoor recess.
It didn't happen often, but when it did, Mr. Johnson always dragged out the same old stack of games from the shelf in the back.
Checkers, Connect Four, a puzzle with missin' pieces—and Snakes and Ladders.

That one was my favorite, even if it could drive you crazy.
One second you're climbin' up a ladder, thinkin' you're about to win—and the next, you're slidin' down a snake's back all the way to the bottom.

Me and Abby grabbed the Snakes and Ladders board right away before anyone else could get it.
Jacob saw us and wandered over, arms crossed, still salty about the soccer thing.

"You sure you can handle this game, Jacob?" I teased.
"Lots of slippin' and slidin'. Might hurt your pride."

He narrowed his eyes, but I saw the smile peekin' out.
"Bring it on."

We sat cross-legged on the floor, settin' up the board.
The dice clattered against the tile, and we all leaned in close like it was the biggest game in the world.

Jacob landed on a snake right away, slidin' halfway down the board.

Abby burst out laughin', and I joined in.
Jacob just threw his hands up. "This game's rigged."

"Or maybe you just ain't lucky," I grinned.

We kept playin', laughin' every time someone slid down, cheerin' when we caught a ladder.
It was the kind of fun that made you forget the rain outside—or that you were supposed to be rivals on the soccer field.

By the time Mr. Johnson called time, Abby won (though Jacob said it was luck), and I was laughin' so hard my sides hurt.

As we packed up the game, Jacob gave me a little nod, like he knew the score was settled... for now.

When Mr. Johnson dismissed us for lunch, my stomach was already rumblin'.
Indoor recess had been fun, but laughin' over Snakes and Ladders sure worked up an appetite.

As I grabbed my coat, I remembered—Mama didn't pack me a lunch today.
She said it'd get soggy in the rain, so I was buyin' lunch from the cafeteria instead.

That didn't bother me none—'cause Friday meant pizza day.

And not just any pizza—the rectangle one.
Cheese all bubbly, edges a little crisp, sittin' on that flimsy paper tray.
It was the best lunch the school ever made, or at least that's what all us kids thought.

I stood in line with Abby, the smell of pizza and warm bread hittin' me as we shuffled forward.

When I got my tray, everything was laid out just right:

Rectangle pizza—cheese-only, 'cause that's all they ever had.

Scoop of corn—kinda soggy, but I liked mixin' it with the pizza sometimes.

Peaches in syrup—sweet and cold, always slidin' around the tray.

Chocolate chip cookie—a little too hard on the edges, but good for dunkin' in milk.

Chocolate milk and orange juice—because I liked both, and nobody said I had to pick just one.

Abby grabbed her tray right behind me, and we found our usual spot near the middle of the room.
Jacob was already at his table with the other boys, still talkin' about the game earlier, braggin' like he'd won the World Cup.

I just rolled my eyes and focused on my pizza—dippin' the corner into the corn like I always did, even though Abby said it was gross.

"You're weird," she laughed, takin' a bite of her cookie first.

"Yeah, but it's good," I grinned, wipin' a little cheese off my chin.

"So, what you doin' this weekend?" Abby asked, swipin' a piece of corn to pop in her mouth.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Probably helpin' Papa with somethin'. Might go down by the creek again, see if I can catch that frog I missed."

She grinned. "You and those frogs."

"You love 'em too."

"Maybe," she said, grinnin' wider.

I was about to say somethin' back when—

CRACK-BOOM!

A flash of light lit up the windows, and not even two seconds later, the loudest clap of thunder exploded right over the school.
It shook the walls, made the trays rattle, and sent a jolt straight through my chest.

I screamed— as well as all the girls in the room and even some of the boys let out a scream.
Abby clutched her milk carton, eyes wide.
Jacob's table tried to act tough, but I saw a few of 'em flinchin' too.

After a moment, the noise died down, and the lunchroom settled back into nervous chatter.

"Dang," Abby breathed, laughin' a little, but you could tell she was still shook up.
"That was close."

"Real close," I said, peekin' out the window, but all I could see was gray rain and trees bendin' in the wind.

Mama always said when thunder came right after the lightnin', it meant the storm was right on top of you.

"That hit somewhere near the playground, I bet," I said, pointin' toward the window.

"I wasn't scared!" Jacob called over from his table, "Y'all act like you never heard thunder before!"

But he wasn't foolin' anybody.
We all saw his eyes go big when it hit, and the flush on his face told the real story.

"Don't act tough, Jacob. You screamed louder than me," I shot back, tryin' to sound brave now that the moment passed.

Some kids laughed, and Jacob just shook his head, but I saw his grin peekin' through.
It was **like that thunder reset everythin'—the boys versus girls stuff, the braggin' about soccer—it didn't matter for a second.
We were all just kids caught in a storm.

Before we even caught our breath from that thunder, the lights flickered—once, twice—then everything went dark.

The whole cafeteria fell into this weird kind of hush—nobody screamed, but you could feel everyone holdin' their breath.

For a second, it was just the sound of rain beatin' against the windows, and the low murmur of voices startin' to bubble up.

"What happened?" Abby whispered, leanin' in close.

"Power's out," I said, even though it was pretty obvious.

Jacob's voice came from a few tables over.
"It'll come back in a minute. Always does."

But it didn't.
The chatter got louder, but Mr. Johnson came into the cafeteria, his voice steady and calm like always.

"Alright, everyone—stay put. Just keep eatin'. The power will be back on soon."

I nodded to myself, like he was talkin' just to me.
If Mr. Johnson wasn't worried, then I wasn't gonna be worried either.

I took another bite of my pizza, even though it had cooled off a bit now.
Didn't matter—still good.
I scooped up the last of my corn and finished my peaches, sippin' my chocolate milk while the room buzzed quietly with everyone wonderin' how long we'd be stuck like this.

Abby was still pickin' at her cookie.
"This ever happen before?" she asked, her voice low.

"Once or twice," I said, thinkin' back.
"But it always came back quick... Usually."

We sat there a little longer, but the lights stayed off, and the hum of the coolers and drink machines stayed quiet.

That's when the teachers started talkin' to each other in that serious, grown-up way—tryin' to sound calm, but you could tell they were figurin' stuff out.

Whispers started spreadin' through the room.
Some kids said we might get sent home, and that idea made my chest flutter with a little excitement.

Finally, Mr. Johnson clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.

"Alright, students. We're going to be dismissing early. The power's not coming back on anytime soon. The buses will start lining up soon, so stay seated until your class is called."

A ripple of excitement ran through the cafeteria—even though it was still rainin', gettin' out early was like winnin' a prize.

I grinned at Abby, and she grinned back.

"Guess we get a long weekend," she said.

I leaned back in my seat, wipin' my hands on my napkin, feelin' full and kinda happy.
Sometimes, a little storm wasn't so bad after all.