At the back of the classroom, Emmitt froze. He hadn’t realized the desk was so unstable. He didn’t think the teacher was watching. He hadn’t figured the log cabin of pencils would fly so high if he and the desk fell over.

He heard the teacher chide as she loomed above him, “My, but you are a rambunctious boy.”

“Just restless, ma’am,” the boy answered, righting his desk and trying to make his adoption of the local appelation sound sincere.

“I’ve about had it up to here with your restlessness. Just what were you doing?”

“Making a home…with pencils, just to try it.” His answer was quiet, sheepish. He made no move to collect of the bright yellow #2’s. Instead he righted his desk and sat.

“You seem to try a lot of things,” the teacher said, hints of sarcasm at the corners of her thin mouth.

Emmitt smiled, an impish grin if ever there was one, “Well ma’am, I ain’t done everything there is to do, but I’ll damn sure give it a try.”

On his own, he skipped to the principal’s office, already knowing the way.