8:20 – My house: My eyes open, light shines through my bedroom windows. All I can think about is that red lanyard. Its sleek strap, the glistening laminated paper, and that beautiful white writing that reads: HALL PASS. Today is yet another day for me to prove myself as Berkley High School’s most infamous hallway roamer ever.
8:45 – Car: While I’m driving to school I’m on auto-pilot. My brain is solely focused on my gameplan for the day. The English Hallway, Collaborative Center, the places that I hold dear to my heart.
9:02 – Class: As I step into my first class of the day, violently late, my teacher calls my name as if she is announcing me in front of an entire arena. “Did you check into the office?” I take out my airpod case, but pull only one out, nonchalantly responding with the word, “Nah.” I open my playlist titled “Gameday” and press play. Playboi Carti begins to harmonize in my left ear. The boredom of the classroom infects me like a virus. I can barely breathe in the musty air of a Berkley High School English class. The only scent that keeps me somewhat alive is the smell of today’s hot lunch.
9:30 – The Door: It is just 5 minutes into second hour and the pass is already calling my name. My foot is tapping, my teacher is yapping, but Playboi Carti is still rapping. I can feel the sensation I have waited for. In the corner of my eye – I see it. Red. Laminated. Beautiful. The sound of Bruce Buffer’s voice echoes around my brain “It’s Timeeeeeee!” My heart sinks into my stomach. Steven Thompsan gets out of his chair, just before me. I catch his gaze, a fire burns down my spine. But I know hope is lost. He stands mere feet from my pass. We stare into each other’s soul, neither of us moving an inch as if it is a western standoff. Steven makes the first move. It seems like hope might be lost. But wait! He reaches for the kleenex instead of the trophy that is the hallway pass. My hand is like a magnet, the lanyard is the metal. I neverending bond that can never be broken.
9:32 – English Hallway: I joyously leap from the classroom doorway. I feel the precious breeze, the familiar smell, and the wondrous sight of the empty hallway. Off I go. When will I return? Only the hallway gods know. I’m not sure where I shall go, but the collaborative center calls my name. An endless echo of persuasion.
9:37 – The Collaborative Center: I place my rump on the smooth chair by the table, and pull out my cellular device. I swipe away spotify, give my regards to Playboi Carti, and say hello to Netflix and Walter White. I could be learning about Miosis right now, but instead, I chose to learn about Heisenberg and the drug cartel. After about thirty minutes, I spot out of the corner of my eye, a Fed, (Roamer slang for Hall Monitor), the vicious sight of Shaun Green. His shiny badge, his observant eagle eye, and worst of all, his blaring Walkie-Talkie. My stomach drops to my toes. I know my time has come. I had been blocking the thought out of my mind. The words strike me like a silver arrow, “Return back to class” The phrase is so familiar I say it with him. I nod my head in agreement knowing class is the last place I am headed.
10:00 – HRSSC: I didn’t want to pull this card so early in the day, but I fear the feds have left me no choice. In the deep depths of Berkley High lies an oasis where stress is non-existent, legs can walk all they want, and time is not of the essence. To The Hallway Roamers Secret Society Club I go. As I enter I am free of every burden the system has placed upon me. I am now surrounded by likeminded peers. We swing our lanyards around our fingers, and sing old folktale songs about the Halls. We look at the banners and the District Titles of our Roaming Team. Being apart of a banner is a legacy I could only dream of.
10:10 – The LMC: The clock hits 10:10, I only have 15 minutes until the end of second hour, but I’m nowhere close to my step goal for the hour. I decided to get going, it’s hard to hit a moving target. I want to get my steps in. I really do, but I can’t resist popping my head into the LMC. As soon as I step in, Mrs. Blerberack tells me to sign in. I put down my teacher’s name, hoping that the records are not cross referenced and that it won’t come back to bite me. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. I take a seat and let all the tense muscles in my body release. A well deserved power nap.
10: 22 – The Return: Now, some hoppers dread this feeling. At one point, even I did. But I have grown to appreciate this. It gives me a sense of closure, a sense of purpose, even if my teacher sends me a nasty glare. I return to class, taking my seat– and for a split second a smile creeps across my face. My teacher says to me, “Welcome back.” Behind such simple words, I can tell she holds a deep grudge. That smile vanishes just as quickly as it came. Because as the wise Kobe Bryant once said, “What’s there to be happy about? Job’s not finished.” I will return. The hallway echoes my name.
