It was Monday between fourth and fifth period at Dennis Brigham Middle School and Chelsea Sandberg was on her third trip to the bathroom. She always went pee between classes to minimize interactions between her and the teacher. It was just how Chelsea managed her shyness. She slipped into the middle stall and took down her fuchsia stirrup pants and sat down.
“Can somebody pass me some toilet paper?!” pleaded Megan Lewis-Taggart from the stall next to Chelsea, “Please! There’s nothing left in this one…”
Chelsea hated Megan Lewis-Taggart so much that she couldn’t bear to even speak to her. She lifted her legs so Megan couldn’t see anyone was in the stall next to her. Chelsea was still fuming mad about the time Megan asked Cory Nesmith to the winter dance before she had the chance. She hated that Megan was so pretty with her ginger curls and cute freckles across her nose. She hated that Megan had perfect vision and no big ugly glasses covered her perfect face. She hated that Megan was a popular gymnast and every boy in seventh grade’s wet dream.
“Someone? Help?” Megan cried out one last time.
Chelsea held her breath so Megan couldn’t hear that she was still there.
“I know you’re in that stall. Come on; help a sister out!”
Chelsea remained quiet and waited for Megan to leave the bathroom before she even started to go. But Megan didn’t leave. Chelsea didn’t have to go too badly, but she worried she wouldn’t make it a whole hour through math class. The bell rang and she heard Megan leave. That meant she only had seconds to get to class. Chelsea got up and pulled her underwear and stirrup pants back on, feeling instant regret. She definitely had to pee now, but it was too late. There was nothing more embarrassing than being late for Mr. Sorensen’s math class; he forced latecomers to stand up for the entirety of the class and called on them constantly for answers. It was far more torturous than Ms. van der Beake’s forced karaoke for latecomers to seventh grade English.
Chelsea ran down the hall to room 104; she could feel her bladder expanding as she ran and felt incredibly uncomfortable. When she got to class, Mr. Sorensen gave her a skeptical death stare. “Ms. Sandberg, you’re late.”
Chelsea’s face went bright red. “P-please…”
Mr. Sorensen gave her an evil half-smile. “You know what this means.”
Chelsea stared down at her white Nike high tops and pulled her long, kit sweater down over her bum. She shuffled quickly to her seat and put down her books on the desk, but continued standing. She felt pressure building. She really needed to pee now. She wished she had just given Megan the toilet paper and gone earlier. Chelsea bit her lip and tried to listen to Mr. Sorensen’s lesson on polynomials, but she just couldn’t concentrate. She shifted her weight between feet, trying not to draw attention to herself. She squeezed her legs together tightly, hoping to stop the inevitable.
“Ms. Sandberg! What did you come up with for number four on last night’s homework?”
Chelsea gulped. Her book wasn’t even open to last night’s homework; she was too focused on not peeing her pants. She fumbled through her workbook, crossing one leg over the other, desperately holding on. “Um… I, uh… I…” Chelsea stuttered. It was now or never. Her face was turning bright red. “Mr. Sorensen, c-can I please go to the restroom?” Chelsea was shaking.
Mr. Sorensen rolled his eyes. “If you must.”
Chelsea adjusted herself and weakly smiled, making her way slowly out of the classroom.
Megan raised her hand and shot Chelsea a mean stare.
“Yes Megan?” Mr. Sorensen called.
“Sir, I saw Chelsea in the bathroom before class. I don’t think she needs to go. I think she’s up to something.”
Chelsea froze; cold sweat dripped down her back, invisible to her classmates due to her over-sized sweater.
“Is this true, Ms. Sandberg?”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. She couldn’t tell a lie, for fear it would go horribly wrong. “Yes sir, but I couldn’t…”
“Don’t lie to me, Ms. Sandberg. Please sit down and find your homework. Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Lewis-Taggart.”
Chelsea shuffled back to her seat. The ache in her privates was growing and growing. She was sure she wouldn’t make it through class. She leafed through her workbook and found the homework, but was still unable to concentrate.
“The answer you got for number four was….?”
“Um, XY equals…” Chelsea grabbed her throbbing crotch and adjusted her legs, “3X minus 2 plus Y to the power of three times four…”
“Perfect,” Mr. Sorensen smiled. “Mr. Nesmith, what did you get for number five?”
Chelsea usually daydreamed about Cory when he spoke, but today her focus lay elsewhere as she scrunched her legs together, trying so hard not to draw more attention than she already had. She started dancing from foot to foot, lightly. She could feel herself losing the battle.
“Ms. Sandberg, number six?”
“S-sir, please…” begged Chelsea, “I really need to use the restroom…” Her hands were safely between her legs, trying to keep the pee at bay.
“Class is nearly over. What was your answer to number six?”
“P-p-please!” Chelsea cried. She couldn’t hold it any longer. A stream of urine drenched her right leg, soaking right through her pants. And with that, another dark stream followed, and another. Chelsea’s hands fell to her sides. She went silent, looking at all the other kids in her class. Then came the laughter. She slunk down into her chair and pulled her sweater over her wet pants and began to cry.