I stayed after school because I genuinely thought seventh period hadn’t started yet. I glanced at the clock, saw a time that looked like the next period, and figured I had a few minutes to spare. Ten minutes later, I realized my “few minutes” had somehow stretched into over an hour. The next thing I knew, the buses were gone, and I had been locked in. Completely alone.
I wandered toward the middle of campus, questioning my existence. That was when I heard two voices speak:
“Are you sure this is the place?”
“Yeah, I think so. Irving, ton.”
“Irving what?”
“I don’t know! That’s what Google Maps said!”
I froze. They were standing near the office doors, flashlights and crowbars in hand.
These were not lost parents or confused tourists (why would you tour in a place like this?). These were burglars. At my school. At night.
I sank behind a trash can and panicked, weighing my options: Run, hide, scream, or… be the bigger one and defend the school!
They started moving, so I darted across campus, hoping something was left out. That’s when I spotted it: a Chromebook cart sitting in the hallway because the AV guy always forgets to roll it back into the closet. Jackpot.
I grabbed the handle and shoved it across campus while glancing over my shoulder every three seconds, praying the wheels wouldn’t squeal.
I then sprinted into the cafeteria, taking everything I saw before venturing to the halls. Most classrooms were locked (the district takes that VERY seriously), but at the end of the senior hallway, I found one door slightly open and swept up whatever I could reach.
Setting the traps was not graceful. I slapped things together on the fly, balancing the hand sanitizer in the science building hallway while listening to footsteps echo closer. I stacked Chromebooks into a wobbling tower near the door, knowing I had maybe thirty seconds before someone saw me. When the pile collapsed on my foot, I bit down a yelp and shoved it back up anyway, because I could already hear murmuring from the office.
The bucket trap in the library corridor needed duct tape, oranges, and a dodgeball, but I basically built it while jogging, taping and tying pieces without stopping. Even pairing my phone to the rally speaker system became a race. I nearly cried when TikTok audio blasted from the wrong building and had to sprint over to fix it.
By the time I crouched behind a bench in the middle of campus, sweaty, shaking, and absolutely sure I had aged ten years, the burglars were moving again.
The building door opened, and Chromebooks fell like anvils in a cartoon. A burglar cried, “Why are there so many tabs open?!”
They staggered straight into the hand sanitizer slick. Arms flailed, legs flailed — one did a pirouette before landing in a recycling bin, and the other slid into the wall like a bowling pin.
Running out of the building, they stumbled into the cafeteria. “HEY THERE DELILAH” blasted at full volume on the rally speaker, rattling windows, birds, and possibly the janitor’s sense of dignity. They clutched their ears and ran blindly toward the middle of campus.
Frozen rice balls rained down. One yelled, “WHAT IS THIS?!” while the other screamed, “IT’S IN MY EYE!”
They slipped on stray tater tots, collided with lunch trays, and generally moved more slowly than any reasonable human would under these circumstances.
The final showdown came in the library corridor. One foot hit the tripwire, the bucket swung, and glitter exploded everywhere. Oranges hit with satisfying plops. The dodgeball landed perfectly. Both burglars collapsed in a heap that looked like a craft project gone horribly wrong.
By the time the security guard arrived at 5:12 a.m., I was crouched behind a bench, covered in sanitizer, glitter, and rice, and panting like I had run a marathon. He surveyed the scene: glitter, a tater-tot-strewn cafeteria, broken Chromebooks, a screaming speaker… and me.
“What happened?” he asked, shocked.
“I defended Irvington,” I said.
He blinked and wrote something in his report. I’m fairly sure it was just “send help, they are insane.”
The burglars were arrested while I was escorted out. The cafeteria may never emotionally recover, the Chromebook cart may never forgive me, and I’m still not entirely sure how reading the clock wrong turned into a full-scale “Home Alone” sequel.
If there is one thing I learned, it is that if you accidentally get locked in your school, you have two choices: cry quietly in a corner or embrace absurdity, gather whatever supplies you can find, and set traps like your life depended on it. Personally, I think I deserve extra credit, a medal, or, at the very least, a free lunch for the emotional damage.
