Stealing. It’s immoral, it’s inhuman, and it’s barbaric, yet people do it. Why? Maybe they do it to fill the void, to get that surge of accomplishment when they aren’t caught red-handed, or maybe because they have a pulsating vigor to commit just one miniscule misdemeanor.  If you do get caught, let me tell you, it’s one of the most humiliating, reputation-ruining, and degrading things to be thrown in the spotlight for.

     It was an average, gross, germ-filled, overly-hyper second grade day. My classmates and I had just come back from an exhilarating recess. We were running all around, flailing our arms like the unsanitary wild animals we were, until the teacher rang her bell, yelling, "Everyone, make a single file line! We all scrambled to her in hopes one of the 25 of us would make it to her first and be the line leader. Of course, I got there first, as usual. We all walked in with pin-drop silence, the only thing prevailing was the sound of our stomachs growling.

     I ran to my lunch box to see what scrumptious goodies my mom had packed for me to ravish on (Of course, in a way, wild animals would ravish on meat).

     And behold! Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

     My mind went blank.

     I don’t have a snack!?

     Never in my current four months of being in the second grade had I ever imagined not having a snack! Keep in mind that my little second-grade brain was too miniscule to even think about the awful act I was about to commit.

     So, when everyone had cleared the vicinity that I was about to commit the unimaginable act in, I started my dull-witted scheme.  I put on a false front by viciously delving into my lunch box as if 800 random things were stuffed in it. Then, with my other free hand, I opened some random kid’s (the kid who I knew had the best snacks in the entire second grade) lunch box and took a single granola bar. I put it in my lunch box. I then continued to plow through my lunch box and put on yet another false front of finally “finding a granola bar.” Then I speed-walked to my desk and started reading a book as if everything was normal and usual.

      Just then, the kid whose lunch box I took the granola bar out of exclaimed, “My granola bar is gone!” He then dramatically fake-collapsed onto the ground in a too-hard-to-describe position. My teacher ran to him as if the world was ending and asked him what was wrong. "My granola bar is gone!” the boy said, whimpering like a little puppy.

     If you're wondering, yes, I felt extremely guilt-ridden, but at least my miniscule brain was able to comprehend that if I didn’t want to get caught, I needed to push my guilt deep, deep, deep down in my heart. But even the most disgusting, embarrassing, and rabid animal, such as my second-grade self, had a heart. So, there I went, woefully owning up to the stupid act I had committed like the unable-to-control-my-guilt type of individual I was, and blurted out, “It was me.” My teacher, who was trying to stop the boy from flailing his arms around like a fan, swiftly turned around.

     Facepalm. I sheepishly grinned out of regret and mumbled, “Sorry.” As her big brain was slowly turning the gears to decipher what had just happened, her face wore the most outrageously raging expression. The teacher sighed a lengthy sigh to cool her hot-headed demeanor. She then walked up with an expression that revealed her questioning her entire life's decisions and stuck her hand out. I looked to the side as I callously put the granola bar into her hand. She shot me another nasty look as if one wasn’t enough, then turned back to the wide-eyed kid that was looking at me like I had ten heads.

     As the kid put on his usual composure, the teacher spoke once again. “Go to the office.” The entire class took the golden opportunity to say, "Ohhhhhhh, she’s in trouble!”

      At that moment, my little, itty-bitty seven-year-old self burst out in an endless river of salty tears. My demonic teacher continued her devious march of heart-throbbing penalties.“Shreeya, leave now. Your parents will be hearing about this.” Clearly she didn’t like the thought of “Whatever happens in the classroom stays in the classroom” because, boy, the lack of hesitation in her voice hurts my pride to this day.

     I marched out of the classroom, my ears red from embarrassment and my cheeks gleaming from the fresh liquid of sorrow that had previously flowed from my eyes. The egotistical tantrum-induced march I had been doing a minute ago transformed into me dragging my feet along the floor to the principal’s office. I walked down the dull green halls, my palms sweaty and my brain having an overthinking overload. I was the full package of a nervous second grader. A feeling you can never forget.

     After a tedious and heart-wrenching trek to the principal’s office, I unfortunately found myself standing before the piercing gaze of the towering wooden door in front of me. I reached out for the doorknob. It felt hot and sweaty, probably from the doomed souls that came before. I sighed a lengthy sigh and hesitantly opened the door, only to be greeted by his little business smile that was showing off his “pearly whites.” He looked at me with his mocking eyes, which were signaling me to sit down. With reluctance in my eyes, I slowly situated myself on the throne of shame, my hands balled into fists. I wasn’t much of an irascible individual, but this menace in my life somehow managed to tick me off every time I saw his face.

     “So, I heard about what happened from your teacher, Shreeya.”

     In an impatient tone, I said, “Right. And I know I shouldn't have done that because it can ‘hurt people's feelings’ and because stealing is wrong.”

     I sighed as I waited for his lengthy response.

     The principal replied in his nasally voice, “I’m glad you understood what you have done wrong and owned up to it, but since what you have done correlates with our guidelines of when we are required to call you parents due to misbehavior, I will have to inform them of this occurrence.”

      I said in an apprehensive voice, “Wait! But-”

     RING, RING, RING.

     School was over before I could even utter a share of my viewpoint.

     I was sent out of his office in a jiffy, and I zoomed back to my classroom like there was no tomorrow in sight.

     I went home on my bus, which was bursting with the joyousness of the other kids, completely oblivious to the stormy cloud of melancholy forming above my head.

     I then had to get through the brunt of the penalty. A lecture from my parents. That day, I experienced an interminable chastisement as soon as I stepped foot into my house, though, even that wasn’t the end of the consequences of my actions.

     There were abhorrent glares that were waiting for me the next day. The kids at my elementary school really made me feel warm and fuzzy inside with their kind little accentuated backtalk about me. These looks lasted for my entire second grade year, which made it harder for me to make friends and to ever have a good relationship with my teacher again.

     So, if you ever get even the slightest twinge of compulsiveness to steal, always remind yourself that the decisions you make in life define who you are. Do something good; people will treat you that way. If you do something bad, people will treat you that way. So, always think before you act, or the outcome may not be so pleasant.

-Shreeya S.