On the Brink of Disaster

Why does she always do this? Like, seriously, it’s not even a big deal, just *let me go*! I’m practically a water balloon right now. I can feel it. I’m like... 90% liquid. That’s scientifically possible, right? I should’ve never drunk all that juice. Why do they even sell juice in the cafeteria if they know this is gonna happen?

Okay, okay, focus. Sit quietly, she said. How does one “sit quietly” when their bladder is about to explode? Maybe if I raise my hand again—oh no, no, she’s giving me that *look*. That “we’ve been over this” look. If I move too much, it’s all over. Should I try holding my breath? Does that help? Nope, nope, it makes it worse.

If I cross my legs... oh no, bad idea, that just... intensifies things. Breathe, breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Wait, what if I pee in small amounts? Like little increments, no one will notice. No, that’s crazy. I’ll be the kid who “incrementally pees.” That’s a reputation I do not need.

C’mon, c’mon, how long can she possibly talk about fractions? Fractions are the least important thing in the world right now. I’m already divided into two parts: bladder and pure desperation. Oh, the bell. THE BELL. Sweet, sweet freedom.

But wait, did I just—no, no, false alarm. I made it!

"Excuse me, I’m just gonna run to the—"

"No, don’t pack up yet."

What!?